


Gin Mills and the Goods

by pumpkinpaperweight



Series: sge 1920s au [1]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: 1920s AU, Blood, F/F, F/M, Flapper/Performer Tedros, Gangster Agatha, Heavy Drinking, Implications of violence, Moderate Violence, Swearing, sge 1920s au, speakeasy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: “Boss.” Says Hester, turning towards the woman in her dark coat and hat, silhouetted in the doorway. “We got a problem.”-tedros is the popular, glamorous new performer at the illicit speakeasy known as club avalon. he's also a runaway- a rich man's son with a tenuous link to the dark underworld surrounding the club and its patrons, including the club's mysterious owner, an inscrutable young woman known only as "lady a". soon, he finds himself involved a little too deeply with the woman herself, her close-knit inner circle, and a buried rivalry that his involvement with them has inadvertently rekindled...-hort, meanwhile, is having a really, really, bad couple of months. and he's 99% per cent sure it's all tedros's fault.





	1. Prologue: Three Years Earlier

She woke up on the cold ground of a dark alley, staring up at the sky.

The moon was barely visible, a pathetic sliver of dirty white, a flicker of sickly yellow in the light-polluted air.

How long had she been lying here? It was difficult to tell. She certainly hadn’t been conscious for all of it. But long enough for the light to shift, the noises of the city centre in the distance to rise and fall and rise again.

Her back was warm, which was odd. The ground on which the rest of her body rested was cold, the chill seeping into her bones.

She shuddered, and a dull lance of pain rolled through her back- hip and shoulder-blade.

Ah, right. That was why she felt warm. Her own blood, seeping out of the fabric of her suit jacket and shirt and spreading across the ground on which she lay.

…shit. She remembered now.

She groaned as the throbbing pain that she had been blissfully unaware of resumed with a vengeance, each pound of her heart sending fire shooting through her. She wouldn’t be going anywhere on her own.

She almost snorted. Like that was her main problem.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. A girl’s voice pierced the night; shrill, silly with drink and loud excitement. From her spot on the ground, she couldn’t make out what was being said. The girl obviously thought it was important if she was so loud about it.

Maybe  _she_  should have been louder about what she wanted. Maybe more forceful. Then they would have taken heed. Then they would have listened.

(Maybe?)

She recalled the feverish, almost mad look that she’d faced, seconds before the first shot had come, and reconsidered.

Maybe not.

At least they were such bad shots.

She felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh, remembering how, the second they’d realised the younger boy hadn’t hit anything immediately fatal, despite having a clear shot from behind her, and she’d reached for her own pistol, they’d been running.

Shooting her in an alley, where the sound echoed and there was only one way out.

Idiots. She hoped the older boy liked his shattered kneecap. She hoped his brother enjoyed dragging him home.

Slowly, her smile faded.

The pain in her back probed at her mind, spread through her body, rendered her weak and numb. Her blood seeped onto the cold ground.

The roar of a car engine split the silence. It was nearby, she thought.

She stared at the moon. Her blood dripped. Her head ached. Her throat was tight.

She really was a sap, too. How could she have thought this would work? That she could really get them to agree? That they had felt the same crushing, crippling loss as her, which had spurred her to attempt this stupid thing in the first place?

Of course, they hadn’t.

Didn’t. Wouldn’t.

She bit her tongue, forcing back the urge to cry, knowing it would hurt in more ways than one.

She wondered if anyone would find her before she bled out.

It would be easy- to slip under now, let her eyes close, escape the pain and the cold ground and the shame of knowing what a mistake she’d made. Leave someone else to deal with it, deal with them…

Deal with them. 

As suddenly as it had come, the urge to cry all but disappeared. The pain in her back doubled, tripled, surging white-hot as she shifted, straightening her body and stretching her tense, aching muscles. She twisted her mouth into a snarl, not entirely all down to the pain.

Well, then.

That particular issue was settled, wasn’t it? Settled by the bullets embedded in her back, his knee, and the blood on the floor.

It occurred to her, vaguely, that she might not be around to settle the problems that their stupid, badly fired shots had caused. Why that pissed her off so bad, she couldn’t say. But the more she thought, the more she turned over the last few hours in her head, the angrier she became, the more aggression that clawed up her throat and clouded her brain. (Or was that the blood loss? She was finding it increasingly hard to tell.)

She had to get out of here. She  _had_  to. 

The thunder of the approaching car was getting closer. She wondered if they were back to finish the job. Maybe she should try and sit up-

The car was on the road the alley led off of. She could hear it getting closer and closer, and hear muffled voices. 

Cursing, she reached for her gun, but it was too far- she’d dropped it as she’d fallen and it had skittered just a few inches too far away. She reached further, but it was getting harder to focus, to see. Sweat broke out over her brow. Her shoulder-blade shrieked in protest, her hip was white-hot and she felt sick, but she reached further, her hand slick with her own blood, fingers scrabbling-

A car swung around the corner, and yellow light from headlamps rushed down the alley in a wave.

With a cry, she forced herself to reach, to snag the handle of her discarded pistol-

The car screeched to a halt, the driver stood up, she blinked away the black spots in her vision and her hand slipped on the grip of the gun, she lifted it-

A howl of fury echoed throughout the alley. The thud of someone all but falling out the car, the door slamming so hard the car shook, the pounding of feet running towards her-

She dropped the gun and slumped to the ground, chest heaving. She didn’t need it now. She recognised that silhouette, the others now scrambling out of the back of the car.

“THAT  _BASTARD-”_

 _“_ WE GOT HER, WE GOT HER!”

“GET THE OTHERS-”

She put her pounding head back against the cold ground and stared back up at the moon as they reached her. Someone took her arm, her  _back_ , tried to lift her up, but she shouted in pain and they stopped. Faces swam in and out of her vision, but she couldn’t focus on them. She stared at the barely visible moon, her vision fading, and as her resolve hardened, as cold as the ground under her, she fancied she saw the moon become full in an instant, spinning back to full strength, leaving the shadow of the earth and becoming something new.


	2. Tedros Meredith

Sophie is, as usual, lording it over everyone else from her booth.

She sits, swathed in her silks and furs and pearls, and drinks the sometimes shit liquor, and ignores or indulges the boys as she fancies. Today, she’s not interested; the only people permitted to sit with her are Nicola and Chaddick. Chaddick to make sure no one tries to kidnap her, and Nicola because the girl has just had a, frankly, _dreadful_ breakup and Sophie enjoys feeling nice, even if she isn’t, necessarily. She feels especially like being nice, today, partially because the drink is decent, but also because of everything else that’s going to happen tonight, which is all due to _her._

“He _really_ just broke it off with your right there?” demands Chaddick to Nicola. Nicola nods glumly, staring at the melting ice in her drink.

“In front’a the whole bar.”

Chaddick whistles, looking sympathetic. Sophie carefully schools her features into a neutral expression, even though she hasn’t heard such good gossip since Millicent slapped the governor’s son, but looking gleeful probably doesn’t fall under the category of being “nice”. Nicola is still talking;

“He tried to leave, but Bogden grabbed him and got right up in his face, told him if he ever came back he’d plug him full of holes.”

Chaddick gives a startled hoot.

“ _Really?_ He’s, what, your saxophonist?”

“He’s a decent fella, though.” Nicola’s mouth twitches a little at the memory, even though she’s still clearly upset. She glances at Sophie to see if she’s interested.

(She isn’t.)

A nicer person would have made an effort to talk to her, offered advice or laughed along. Sophie doesn’t. It’s not that she doesn’t like Nicola (well, she doesn’t particularly, but only because Sophie rarely likes anyone with such dire fashion taste as Nicola has), but tonight, Sophie has other things on her mind, and finds she’s not particularly interested in the other girl’s heartbreak. So, instead, Sophie just turns to stare haughtily out over the bar.

Nicola sighs and turns back to Chaddick.

The club is rambunctious and stifling with smoke, too-strong perfume and the heavy stench of liquor. A glass breaks somewhere, and group of men cheer. Sophie’s not sure what’s louder, the crowd or the band. Either way, it’s some small wonder they haven’t been raided yet, with the collective roar of music and laughter and conversation that makes the hidden speakeasy almost deafening. Groups of patrons mingle and drink and chat, high off the smoke and the exhilaration of something illegal, something forbidden. 

Club Avalon, Sophie’s carefully curated masterpiece of drunken revelry and entertainment. Almost everything about it, from the stage curtains, to the lighting, is her choice. She spared no expense, knowing full well how to pull a crowd, and, more importantly, how to keep them. Good interior design, comfort, and, most importantly, the pretty singers and dancers, young men and women with bright eyes and good voices who could keep people coming back again and again… even without the steady flow of moonshine which _really_ keeps them in business.

Everyone asks where Sophie gets it. She doesn’t care to tell them, but if you know, you know, and if you work it out, you keep your mouth shut.

It’s the one thing that she can’t exactly claim credit for.

Sophie tunes back into the conversation, and catches Nicola’s last few sentences;

“-I probably would’a just gone back today if the boss hadn’t been there that night, and saw it all happen. Told me to have a night off.”

Sophie nearly chokes.

“She was at _Gavaldon?”_ she demands. “Last night?”

Nicola casts her a more familiar, long suffering, look.

“I know you act like your club is the only one worth going to, but yeah, because she also owns Gavaldon. And Graves. And Bartleby’s, and-”

“She didn’t tell me she was _back,_ let alone going to Gavaldon, of all _inferior_ places!” thunders Sophie, outraged. Nicola raises her eyebrows.

“Wonder why.”

Chaddick doesn’t laugh, because he’s her bodyguard and he’s supposed to be on her side, but it’s clear he wants to, from his twitching mouth.

Sophie sighs dramatically and ignores both of them. To be fair, she hadn’t actually seen her for a couple of weeks, anyway- she always seemed to disappear off right when something _important_ happened, (like tonight, for example). But apparently she was back in the area, if Nicola was to be believed- but had not yet come to see Sophie, or check up on her (most popular!) club.

Scowling, Sophie leans back and readjusts her furs, checking the time as she did so; not long now, provided the useless stagehands didn’t take forever like they always did.

“What are you waitin’ for?” demands Nicola from her left. Even though she’s meant to be ignoring her, Sophie can’t resist bragging.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” she asks innocently. “Guess important news don’t travel to places like Gavaldon, huh?”

Nicola looks unimpressed and Sophie hurries on;

“I snagged an air-tight new flapper boy a couple of nights ago. Debuting here tonight.”

Chaddick nods earnestly at Nicola, who’s looking sceptical, like she always does.

“He _is_ good. He’s a laugh, too. I like him.”

“Your sense of humour is mostly based around people falling over, so I ain’t convinced.” Snarks Nicola. Chaddick just grins.

“You wait, doll. You wait.”

Nicola still looks unconvinced, but Sophie doesn’t bother trying to talk more about it.

She’ll see.

* * *

 

And see they all do, five excruciatingly long minutes later. The second the lights go down, Sophie is rearranging her pearls and checking her hair, knowing that the attention she’ll get from bringing this particular act into the club is going to eclipse everything she’s ever had before, and feeling _very_ happy about it.

The second he’s on the stage, though, it’s something else.

Nicola’s eyebrows go up, Chaddick’s eyes go big, and there’s a symphony of shattering glasses as people lose their grips on their drinks. Someone wolf-whistles.

Sophie laughs and drains her glass.

Onstage is a tall, beautiful young man, and even though Sophie’s seen him before, she has to congratulate herself again.

He’s all silk, sequins, and jewels, clear eyes that stand out in amongst the makeup and straight brows and full lips that make him look striking beyond belief, otherworldly in-amongst the dim lights and the scarlet curtains. One gloved hand toys with a string of pearls (that cost Sophie a _lot,_ but were definitely worth it), the other is wrapped around the mic stand. He tilts that handsome head a little, golden curls falling in his eyes, and stares at the audience, who stare back, bewitched by the gorgeous boy in his pearls and silks.

 _And he hasn’t even sung yet._ Sophie thinks smugly.

And then he does, and Sophie smiles; she’s _so_ glad the band are actually up to scratch tonight, because that voice really is something else.

 _Well done, darling._ She tells herself.

Then she orders another whiskey and sits back to watch the show, as he pulls the mic from the stand and slinks down to the stage steps.

Considering he looks so good on it, Sophie’s a little disappointed that he doesn’t spend more time on the stage. But his little tour around the bar is just as effective, she has to admit. Perching on tables and twisting boy’s ties to pull them towards him, kissing girl’s hands and dragging gloved fingers across table tops, it’s obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing. Sophie watches him swoop past, rose scent trailing heavy and sweet in his wake. Nicola’s mouth is slightly open, and Chaddick looks a bit stunned, as if he’s been punched in the head.

Tedros Meredith is _definitely_ one of her best finds.

 

* * *

 

 

“You should really lock the door, darling-”

Sophie bustles into Tedros’s dressing room barely thirty seconds after he’s left the stage, towing Nicola and Chaddick and slamming the door behind her.

Tedros, sat in front of the vanity, halfway through removing his make-up, looks remarkably unruffled by their sudden appearance. Sophie notes, with some surprise, how quickly he’s managed to drop the mystique and alluring nature he’d held barely two minutes ago. Now his heels are halfway across the room and he’s shoved half a slice of toast in his mouth, staring balefully at them as he chews. Apparently the kitchens are fond of him, too. Sophie makes a mental note to tell Silkima to tone down how much food she gives the flappers- Tedros looks to have about half the loaf of bread teetering on a plate next to him. She’d already had words with her after Beatrix had gotten _steak_ from them.

“I would have done,” he says finally, “had I been given longer than thirty seconds to get in here before my boss comes bursting in.”

Sophie just laughs and swats him with your gloves.

“You are going to get me _so_ much money, baby _.”_

“Thank you for congratulating me on my performance.” Sighs Tedros, scrubbing rouge off of his sculpted cheekbones, and kicking Chaddick when he swipes a slice of bread. Sophie rolls her eyes.

“You don’t need me to tell you that.” She’d been in raptures on the day of audition, anyhow. He definitely knew.

“Ri-ight.” Grumbles Tedros, throwing his headband onto the sofa and shedding his pearls. “How’d you like it, Chad?”

“I think the girl behind us fainted.” Smirks Chaddick. Tedros looks slightly guilty, but Sophie is ecstatic.

“ _Did_ she?”

“That’s not a good thing.” gripes Nicola from behind Chaddick’s broad shoulders. Sophie waves a hand.

“Oh, please, she won’t mind- and anyway, it means Tedros is doing it right. Don’t mind Nicola, Teddy, she just got dumped-”

“Can it, Sophie.” Snaps Nicola. Sophie glowers at her. Chaddick just laughs, examining the detail on one of Tedros’s other outfits, hanging near the door.

Tedros awkwardly takes off his lipstick and stands up, taking another slice of toast and wandering over to the small window. Sophie can see Nicola staring at him in that annoying, scrutinising way that she has, and silently wills her not to say anything;

“Where’re you from, Meredith?”

No such luck. Sophie has considered bashing Nicola with a side table several times, but now it’s a stronger urge than ever. She doesn’t _need_ the boss of an _inferior_ club questioning _Sophie’s_ act in _Sophie’s_ club, even if both of their clubs are owned by the same woman!

“How’d you mean?” asks Tedros. He looks a little tense, Sophie thinks, which is odd. There’s no reason he should be worried about exposing where he _lived_ to them.

Come to think of it, she’d never really asked him about his family, or his life outside of the club, at all…

“See, I ain’t ever seen you around before, an’ you talk like a rich kid.” Says Nicola, watching him closely. “And I ain’t never heard of any Meredith family before.”

“Keep to ourselves. I only used to live uptown, anyway. Not anymore.” Tedros says quickly, stiffly. He’s biting the inside of his cheek. “Does it matter?” he asks.

Sophie frowns. Something isn’t right here. Tedros’s guarded face is not making him look too convincing. There’s an odd feeling of suspense, as everyone waits for someone else to talk first.  

It’s a very tense pause. Nicola stares at Tedros, who is silhouetted by the window, half of his face in shadow, his still unremoved eye make-up making him look dramatic and somewhat dangerous. Chaddick is eating Tedros’s food loudly behind them, which somewhat ruins the moment, in Sophie’s opinion.

Nicola takes a breath to speak, and just as she opens her mouth-

“I doesn’t matter.” Confirms Chaddick suddenly. “He don’t have to tell you shit, Nic, lay off him. Nic’s jus’ nosy, Ted, pay her no mind. So long as you sing good and get Sophie her dough, there’s no problem.”

He grins, and Tedros looks a little more relaxed. Sophie has to admit that Chaddick has a point. Dysfunctional families aren’t exactly uncommon. It’s possible that Tedros just doesn’t want to tell his new employer about his runaway mother, wicked stepmother or gangster sibling, or something like that.

Not that Sophie could exactly hold anything against him, especially with those examples.

Pushing away the faint unease to the back of her mind, she smiles at (the still very tense) Tedros and trots towards the door.

“Well, darling, we’ll leave you to it.” She decides, tugging her furs more securely around her shoulders. “Tell Beatrix she’s gonna have some competition.”

“You kidding?” asked Tedros, incredulous. He’s slid back on his unruffled persona easily.

(Maybe too easily?)

“She’d kill me.” Tedros continues easily, returning to the vanity to continue removing his make-up.

“Oh, you know that already?” Sophie grins, throwing open the door. “Good.”

Chaddick is taking more of Tedros’s toast and following them out, cheerful as you like. She can see Nicola out of the corner of her eye, though, and she doesn’t look happy.

Well, that’s Nicola’s problem, Sophie decides, as she bids Tedros goodbye and sweeps back down the corridor. Because handsome, talented, slightly mysterious Tedros Meredith is _her_ employee, and will make _her_ club lots of money, not Nicola’s.

And she is very smug about that.

 

* * *

 

She barely gets back into the main club, though, before Kiko, one of the other flappers, comes scampering up to her. Sophie rolls her eyes and prepares herself for a high-pitched monologue about some boy or another-

So she’s left surprised when Kiko carries on past her, and back into the corridor the three of them just left, and only murmurs to them as she passes by;

“She’s back. Go wait in her office.”

Sophie turns after her, surprised, but Kiko is already gone-

And then she sees the three black-suited women sat at the bar- one tattooed, one pale and white-haired, and one short and plump, and knows that Kiko is definitely right. Because wherever their boss is, the Coven are never far behind.

Sophie spins back to the other two-

Nicola is smirking at her.

“ _Told_ you she was back in the city, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything to say lmao uhh... predictions in the comments, if you like?


	3. A Problem

By the time Beatrix is on her second drink, Tedros knows basically everything about everyone in the club.

After the show, he and the rest of the flappers had changed and headed out to the bar for a drink as the club wound down for the night, leaving a much quieter, less rowdy bar for them to sit in.

“Sometimes we go out still in costume, but I figured you’d not wanna do that tonight.” Kiko had said to him as they’d traipsed out of Beatrix’s dressing room.

“That’s Captain Manders.” Beatrix is saying from over the top of her glass. “He’s a _total_ sap, but apparently he could singlehandedly keep us in business, the amount he drinks. He’s here almost every night…”

Kiko peers at the man with interest.

“He buys the pricey stuff, right?”

“Yeah.” Beatrix grins. “Real considerate of him.”

Tedros isn’t actually drinking anything- mostly, he’s just listening to the three girls gossiping, and trying to ignore the constant thrum of anxiety in his chest, that he’s had since the very second Nicola turned to him earlier on. He’s not been able to get rid of it since, and-

He realises the other three are staring at him and starts, but luckily, they’re not waiting for a response, just scrutinising.

“-they’ve got a fella at Bartleby’s, and he’s nice enough, but apparently he’s a flour-lover and dances like he’s bent.” Says Reena thoughtfully. “Teddy is good at make-up though, and you’re probably a better dancer, aren’t you?”

Tedros makes a vague noise of agreement, knowing that she’s not really wanting an answer. He’s right- Reena looks satisfied and gets a refill on her drink.

Beatrix raises her eyebrows.

“I guess the boss doesn’t care too much for Bartleby’s, huh? Who’s running it now?”

“Radley.” Replies Kiko promptly. “He’s not actually any good at gettin’ or organisin’ any performers, mind, but he sells the drink well enough, and people will go just for that, right?”

The girls make noises of agreement. Beatrix catches Tedros’s confused expression and her eyes widen.

“Ohhh, you don’t know about the boss?”

“...I’ve been here for less than a week.” Tedros reminds them. He hardly knows anyone, apart from Sophie, Chaddick, the other flappers, and Silkima in the kitchen, who’d aggressively declared that he was too skinny and piled him with food.

“She hasn’t been in town, I suppose, you won’t have met her yet…” muses Reena. “Well, we actually don’t know a lot about her either, gotta say. She’s Sophie’s sister, though they don’t look _anything_ alike, so I’m not sure they’re actually related by blood, but, whatever. She owns this club, Gavaldon, Bartley’s, and Graves, plus another few I don’t remember... but we don’t see her too often, she’s pretty elusive. When we do, though, we really gotta make sure everything’s runnin’ right.”

“What if it’s not?” asks Tedros. Beatrix grins.

“Never happened yet, baby. Say what you want ‘bout Sophie- and I do, regularly- but she knows how to run a show. Or maybe she just knows how to impress her sister, because I don’t think you can actually run a show effectively, and also be such a shit singer.”

Tedros blinks at her. Beatrix nods, grinning.

“Oh, yeah, one time she got bent at Christmas and got up on one of the tables-”

“And _now,_ I’m scarred for life.” Interrupts Reena, apparently not wanting to relieve that particular event. Kiko, who has been looking around anxiously this whole time, apparently in case the not-currently-present Sophie came swooping down upon them to enact vengeance, now leaps in to change the subject;

“I’m not sure I even know the boss’s name, y’know.”

Beatrix sighs at her changing of the subject but accepts it anyway.

“Well, you won’t. I was here before all of you, and I’ve only met her three, maybe four times. Chatted to her even fewer.”

Kiko’s eyes widen. Even Reena looks surprised. Tedros doesn’t really know what there is to be surprised about, but clearly, he’s about to find out.

“You’ve talked to her? You never told me that! What’d you talk about?”

“Never needed to.” Mutters Beatrix. “And like I’d tell _you._ It was nothin’ much, anyway. And she keeps so much herself, and shows up rarely, so, obviously, there’s t thirty billion different rumours ‘bout her. Not that anyone knows anything for sure, but there’s definitely somethin’ funny about her. Everyone knows to keep their heads down when she’s around. She disappears all the time, goes out of town. ” Beatrix pauses contemplatively. “But she’s back in the city now, anyhow.”

“How’d you know that?” demands Reena. Beatrix jerks her head to her left.

“’cause the Coven are back.”

Tedros follows her gaze to a group of three black-suited women sat further down the bar, with their heads together, muttering to the bartender.

“Who are they?”

“They follow the boss ‘round.” Murmurs Beatrix, watching them out of the corner of her eye. “Basically her lackeys, for want of a better word. Some say that they do her dirty work for her. The one with all the tattoos is Hester, she’s the boss’s right hand man. The pale one is Anadil, she and the short one, Dot, gather loads of information, and Anadil is decent pickpocket, as well-”

“Uh, Bea? They’re coming over here…” peeps Reena. Beatrix, however, looks unbothered.

“No worries, I know ‘em well enough.” She says airily, and turns to meet them. “Hi, Hes. Where’ve you three been?”

Hester has slid from her stool and come sauntering over, eyeing the four of them in a very guarded manner, the other two flanking her silently. Kiko looks as if she’d like to disappear, and Tedros has to admit that he feels similar. There’s something in Hester’s black gaze that makes his skin prickle, and gives him the uncomfortable feeling that he’s done something wrong. Not that he has.

(He has?)

_(“Where’re you from, Meredith?”)_

Tedros desperately shoves the thought away, and struggles to refocus on the conversation-

Just as Reena points at him. Tedros feels vaguely sick as the attention of the group turns to him.

“This is our new fella, Tedros, Tedros Meredith- and, well, we don’t really know much about him, but that’s alright. He’s _real_ good, ain’t you, Teddy?”

Tedros has a momentary fantasy of barricading himself in his dressing room for a solid twenty-four hours, but instead, he forces a (fake) smile, and physically drags his head up in order to get himself to look into those black, cold eyes, shadowed under the brim of her hat, which she hasn’t bothered to take off.

“Don’t know much, huh?” she muses. Tedros tries for a grin, that feels so fake, even as he does it, that he drops it seconds later.

“Private person, y’know?”

She lifts her eyebrows a little but otherwise doesn’t respond. She’s probably about his height, and her tattoos peek out of her cuffs and her collar- most notably, a scarlet, buck-horned demon crests the starched white of her collar, a contrast to her immaculate appearance. Heavy rings adorn her hands, several earrings and piercings glint on her face and her ears, and even as Tedros takes in her appearance, Hester stares steadily back at him-

And the second her eyes meet his, properly, something glimmers in her eyes that’s almost… almost _recognition?_ Something so dark and harsh that it almost makes Tedros physically recoil, slithering behind her gaze, and her jaw twitches-

And then it’s gone and any other time, any other place, Tedros would have thought he’d imagined it, but for some reason, he can’t shake the dreadful, creeping feeling that she knows him, knows who he is and hates him for it, even though he’s certain that he’s never seen Hester before in his life.

_(“See, I ain’t ever seen you around before, an’ you talk like a rich kid.”)_

“You a new performer, then?” asks Anadil from behind Hester, propping her elbow on the other woman’s shoulder, and Tedros has never been so relieved to turn to talk to her, even though meeting her emotionless gaze and staring into those red, unnatural eyes is hardly better than looking at Hester. But he can still feel Hester’s gaze burning into him, and later, he won’t remember how he replied at all, only that he answered Anadil’s questions robotically and smiled mechanically, his skin crawling the whole time. 

So when he turns to answer Dot’s question (“How do you get your eyeliner to do what you want? Mine goes _everywhere-”)_ , to say that he’s somewhat surprised would be an understatement. She’s short and chubby, with a round, almost sweet, face which looks utterly out of place next to Hester and Anadil, who are both sharp-faced and grim-eyed. She’s surprisingly friendly, too.

It doesn’t serve to make him feel much better, though, not with Hester breathing down his neck, and for the rest of the conversation, he sits there silently, avoiding her gaze and trying to pay more attention to the other flappers. The heavy thrum of anxiety has swollen, squeezing his throat. How could she have known?

She can’t have. There’s no way that Hester could have found out.

Is there?

_(“I ain’t never heard of any Meredith family before.”)_

Feeling ill, he stands and excuses himself, and makes for the dressing rooms.

He knows that Hester’s eyes follow him all the way, though.

* * *

 

_“Who’ve you hired?”_

Sophie jumps about a foot as Hester comes stalking into the office, eyes ablaze, Anadil and Dot trotting behind. Both look similarly mutinous.

“What?” Sophie splutters, bewildered. Not even a hello, even though they haven’t seen one another for weeks, maybe months? Then again, Hester never was big on manners-

“That kid! The new one! What the _hell_ are you playing at?”

“ _Tedros?_ Why, what’s wrong with him?” the apprehension Sophie had dismissed earlier comes flooding back. She finds herself suddenly wishing she hadn’t dismissed it quite so quickly. “His surname is Meredith, I didn’t think he was connected to anyone, was I wrong-?”

“That’s what he told you, huh?” Hester interrupts, seething. “ _Meredith?_ Oh, no, I knew the second I saw him. That’s not his surname. I dunno _how_ you didn’t notice-”

“Who- who is he?” stammers Sophie, unused to seeing Hester this furious. “I don’t-”

“So he just turned up out of nowhere when the boss was out of town, has no qualms about the job, and tells you basically nothing about his family, where he’s from, or anything?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“You’ve looked him in the eye?” asks Dot, and even she looks shaken, which is rare beyond belief. Sophie has a very bad feeling about this.

“Of course-” she begins but Anadil cuts her off.

“Then you don’t realise whose they’re the same as?” rasps Anadil.

“No, I-” Sophie thinks about that clear, intense blue, trying to work out if she’s ever seen it before. It was a fairly rare colour, and she-

Sophie goes cold.

“ _No._ It’s just an eye-colour, it’s not.. _.”_

But Tedros’s reluctance to answer any questions about his background, and the resemblance, make it a weak argument. Hester must see it on her face.

“What’s he said?” she demands. “Reena says that they don’t know much ‘bout him.”

“He… Nicola asked him where he was from, he didn’t answer properly, I just thought maybe he…”

She stops, horrified.

“Chaddick defended him. Chaddick stopped Nicola from interrogating him.”

Hester’s eyes darken, and her hand drifts to her jacket pocket, eyes flitting to the floor below, where the speakeasy is hidden. Sophie knows full well what’s stored in that pocket.

Dot and Anadil exchange meaningful glances.

“Always thought there was something funny ‘bout that guy.” Said Hester coldly.

“Stop lettin’ him hang around with you.” Dot urges Sophie. “Until we know whether he can be trusted or not-”

Behind them, the door opens, and Sophie really isn’t sure she could have felt worse if she’d tried.

This was definitely not how she’d wanted to see her sister again.

“Boss.” Says Hester, turning towards the woman in her dark coat and hat, silhouetted in the doorway. “We got a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noooo... what does hester know???


	4. Lady A

Hort won’t say that he doesn’t feel bad, because he does. But he was honest, and everyone always said that girls appreciated honesty, right?

Apparently the girl’s saxophone-playing friend didn’t, though.

(Did he even have a gun?)

To cut one of the longest stories of his life short, because, honestly, he doesn’t want to think about it too much; he’d ventured further afield to visit Club Avalon, he’d met the girl of his dreams, rushed back to Gavaldon to tell Ravan, and remembered slightly too late, when he’d gotten there, about his current girlfriend- you know, the _woman who ran the place-_ gotten slightly (very) drunk worrying about it, then made a spur of the moment decision, broke up with her in front of the whole bar, then nearly got shot by the saxophonist and had been kicked out by two of her bouncers.

His coccyx were still bruised.

Well, to say that he’d _met_ the girl of his dreams was probably something of an overstatement- he’d seen her from afar, but he’d felt such a connection between them when their eyes had met that they may as well have gotten engaged right there. Even though they didn’t know each other’s names. And hadn’t talked. Or interacted.

At all. Ever.

But Hort was still confident that he would do his best to get this mystery woman to like him back.

For all that, though, he was probably never going to be able to go back to Gavaldon ever again, as Ravan had gleefully pointed out the second he caught up with him. Nicola would never want to see him again, and, honestly, he wasn’t too sure that he blamed her. But he _liked_ Gavaldon. The drink was good, the entertainment was good, and he was dating the-

Oh, right. Not anymore.

So, that night, a few weeks after the fateful Gavaldon Incident, instead of taking the usual route through the city’s slightly questionable grocer’s into Gavaldon, Hort, this time with Ravan in tow, hurries back through the back entrance of a spa, down an unsettlingly steep, narrow, set of stairs, and to what _looks_ very much like an ordinary wall at the back of a dusty, abandoned store-room. But Hort is well-enough acquainted with speakeasies and has, obviously, visited this one before, and knows that this isn’t the case, so he raps sharply on the wall, hoping he’s remembered the pattern correctly. A panel slides to the side, a set of eyes glare through the gap, and Hort mutters the password he used last time. Apparently this is satisfactory, because the panel snaps shut, and a few seconds later, a larger part of the panelling slides open, a gap just wide enough for them to pass through.

Hort and Ravan scamper through the gap and into the dingy passageway beyond, and the wall slams shut behind them.

 

* * *

 

After the muffled, hidden alleyways and the eerie, silent basement, the tumult of the speakeasy hits Hort like a blow to the head. Even though he’d visited speakeasies previously, Avalon was different, somehow- the close, smoky air, the raucous noise of chatter and laugher and the occasional bout of whooping, as well as the band, playing over it all, gave Avalon an enticing manner, dragging you straight into the crowd and to the bar, the stage, the booths and tables scattered around the place.

It’s intoxicating.

Ravan grabs his arm and tows him to a table close to the stage, grinning wider than Hort has ever seen him, and there they sit for a good hour, listening to the band, watching the dancers, and getting steadily drunker as the night went on. They’d just finished discussing (arguing over) the finer points of one of the dances, when Hort spots someone sweeping into one of the booths opposite them, the crowd parting around her like the Red Sea for Moses. Someone tall and blonde, swathed in fine clothes and toying with a long string of pearls in one scarlet-nailed hand, clutching a cocktail in the other.

“Ravan, that’s her!” Hort tugs on his friends arm. “She’s there!”

“Mystery true love?” asks Ravan, peering over his shoulder at the woman sat, resplendent in her furs. “She looks…”

“Swell?”

“I was gonna say _upstage_ , actually.” Mutters Ravan.

Looking at her disinterested, aloof face, her eyes that pass over everyone as if they’re not even there, there’s a niggling doubt at the back of Hort’s mind that suggests that maybe, just maybe, Ravan might be right. But he’s drunk and she’s beautiful and he can’t bring himself to consider it.

“Eh, she hasn’t met me yet.”

Ravan snorts. Hort frowns.

“Oh, yeah! You’re, what? A butcher’s boy? Bull, she won’t even look at you, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Wanna bet?” challenges Hort.

“Nah.” Ravan finishes his drink, uninterested. Hort grabs his sleeve.

“No, come on-”

Unfortunately for them, whilst Hort and Ravan bicker, someone else enters the booth with Hort’s mystery love, someone who both young men completely fail to notice, even when Ravan bets Hort another cocktail. Even when Hort straightens his jacket, smiles, stands up, and strides over.

As it happens, he doesn’t notice at all, until he emerges from the crowd on the other side, just opposite said booth.

His face crumples.

Because the eyes currently staring back at him from the booth are not the striking green that Hort had been so taken with, despite his brief look at them, but a deep, almost black, brown.

And they are very familiar.

Oh, this is just great.

Hort stares at _Nicola,_ Nicola who shouldn’t even _be_ here, because she ran _Gavaldon,_ Nicola who he broke up with because he was enamoured with- with-

Hort doesn’t stop himself fast enough, and Nicola isn’t stupid- in fact, she’s always been very clever.

So when Hort glances at the blonde girl, and Nicola follows his gaze, and the blonde girl looks up and Hort smooths his hair-

He _what-?_

Shiiiiit.

He’s put his foot in it now.

Nicola puts two and two together, and stands up, shocked face melding into something much more vicious. Hort takes a step back- and slams right into a massive man twice his size, who spills his drink down a woman’s front. She shrieks, he swears, and both of them wheel to face Hort, who is far too drunk and far too confused to talk properly, let alone apologise in a satisfactory manner. Hort backs away again, mumbling something he hopes sounds like an apology-

And backs right back into Nicola, but even as he does so, he notices how his mystery woman has already waved for a replacement for the man’s drink and a shawl for the woman, how astute-

Nicola is dragging him to face her, fuming.

“I get it now.” She snarls, somehow audible over the thunderous noise in the bar. “I get it. You dumped me for _Sophie_ , even though I know for a fact you’ve never even spoken, and let’s face it, you ain’t gonna have a chance with her.”

“That’s her name? Sophie?” Hort asks distractedly. He doesn’t notice how hurt Nicola’s face becomes until slightly too late. “Wait, no, Nic-”

He reaches out for her, but Nicola flings his hand off of her arm, face mutinous.

“No, I’m not doin’ this again. Not here.” She seethes. Hort is sure he can feel the mystery woman- Sophie- watching them. “I get it. You don’t care. That’s... fine. But I’m tellin’ you, you’ve got no chance.”

Hort scowls.

“You think I ain’t good enough?”

“Maybe I do!” snaps Nicola. “After all, what kind of fella ditches his girlfriend for a girl that he’s never even _talked_ to?”

She makes it sound so ridiculous, makes _him_ sound ridiculous, and Hort hates it.

“Maybe I want better than you, you ever consider that?” he barks back, and people are turning to look, probably noticing their shared fury and the hurt and confusion that are slowly eclipsing Nicola’s anger. “Maybe you should stop thinkin’ yourself the best all the time, then maybe you’ll realise-”

“ _Realise what?”_

This is turning into an exact replica of a couple of weeks ago, but Hort finds that he doesn’t care, can’t care, and as he sucks in a breath to reply-

The volume of the chatter and talk in the bar plunges so quickly, and so abruptly, that it pulls Hort out of his rage completely. Nicola stops too, and looks around-

Her eyes widen and she steps away from Hort, straightening the hem of her dress as she does so. Feeling as if he’s just surfaced from underwater, Hort looks up, bewildered, trying to figure out what’s caused this sudden, inexplicable lull.

As it happens, it’s a _who,_ not a _what._

A woman is making her way into the speakeasy, and Hort only needs to take one look to understand why everyone has gone so silent.

She’s tall and pale, dressed immaculately in a black and grey suit, sleek tie and well-fitted suit jacket. Short, dark hair is visible cropped just past her ears. Her hands, neck, face are lacerated with small scars, and Hort isn’t sure he wants to know why. But the killer, the trait that’s making people shrink back and avert their eyes, is none of those things. It’s her walk- she advances alone, steadily, without strut or saunter, a stride with purpose but no haste, controlled. It’s her posture- ramrod straight, unflinching. It’s the flint-sharp gaze from dark eyes shadowed under the hat, her face slightly hidden but losing none of its severity for it. Wicked intelligence glimmers from those eyes. She doesn’t look at anyone for long- her gaze darts from face to face quickly, the only unmeasured part of her, constantly evaluating and changing and moving.

Hort knows immediately that she’s important. He knows immediately that she’s not a regular, not well-known, but known well enough all the same.  

He also knows that, as she moves towards them, he needs to get out of there, right now. But he can’t seem to move, pinned to the spot by that immense, unmovable, purpose.

Nicola saves him, as it happens. She shoves him out of the way as she and Sophie hurry to meet the newcomer, and it’s enough to jerk Hort back to his senses, getting his legs to co-operate with his brain. He scrambles away through the crowd, which is still eerily silent, and escapes back to his table and a dumbstruck Ravan. Together, they stand and stare, as the woman joins Sophie and Nicola in their booth, apparently unbothered by the fact the whole bar is shrinking away from her. It’s not until she’s sat down and taking a drink from the bartender who’s just appeared at her elbow, that the silence shatters. People turn to talk to one another again, but there’s a low hum of uncertainty now, droning alongside the chatter, and it’s impossible to miss the nervous glances that continue to be thrown in one particular direction.

If Ravan has any comments about Hort’s disastrous encounter with Sophie and Nicola, he doesn’t share them. Instead, he leans over to a passing staff member.

“Hey- who’s that? The woman who just came in?”

The woman raises her eyebrows.

“Why, sir, that’s my boss, the club’s owner. Don’t come by very often, which’ll be why everyone’s so surprised.”

Ravan and Hort exchange glances.

“How does she know them- Sophie and Nicola?” asks Hort.

“Sophie’s her sister, and she runs this club. Nicola runs Gavaldon, another one that she owns.”

Her… sister?

Apparently Ravan is surprised as well, and both of them glance back over at the severe, silent woman in her dark suit, beside blonde, beautiful Sophie, in her silks and furs. They definitely don’t look related.

“Say… what’s her name? Your boss?”

The woman looks unsurprised by their constant questioning, if a little exasperated.

“No one really knows. She don’t use it, whatever it is.”

“What’d they call her, then?”

The woman straightens her waistcoat and repositions her tray on her arm, before glancing briefly at the table, where the three women sit close together, muttering to one another in low tones. It’s impossible to tell what they’re talking about- they don’t look up at all.

“Folks call her Lady A. But if I were you, I wouldn’t talk ‘bout her much at all.”

She hurries away, leaving Hort and Ravan confused and apprehensive behind her.

“Lady A?” repeats Ravan. “What kinda name is that?”

Hort just shakes his head, and he and Ravan return to their seats, musing over what they’ve just learned.

Just as he does, though, he takes one final glance at the table-

And finds that Lady A has lifted her head, and is staring right back at him.

Hort blanches, shocked, but not because she’s looking right at him- but because he’s sure, he’s somehow, completely certain that he _knows her_.

And he doesn’t know how, or why, or when, but he trusts his gut, and everything in his body insists that he recognises the dark eyes watching him from under the hat.

For a minute, all he can do is stare back, skin prickling, trying to work out _why_ -

And then she bows her head to him a little, and returns to her conversation as if it was nothing, even though he’s sure he hasn’t seen her acknowledge a single person beyond Sophie and Nicola, leaving Hort with the distinct, uncomfortable impression that she knows him, too.

Ravan turns to him, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.

“What was _that?”_

Shaking his head, Hort opens his mouth to reply-

Onstage, the curtains swish open, and whatever he’s going to say is snatched right out of his mouth.

Because even if he _thinks_ he might recognise Lady A, there’s not a shadow of doubt in his mind here; he knows the performer currently stood on stage. And while he’s probably the very last person Hort had _ever_ expected to see in a speakeasy, let alone on the _stage,_ there’s no mistaking that damned chiselled face.

“Tedros _Pendragon?”_ he hisses to Ravan.

Apparently, he didn’t say it quietly enough, though.

On the table behind them, three black-suited women exchange meaningful glances.

They stand and make their way backstage without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE SHE IS LADS GOD THAT ENTRANCE WAS FUN (and bloody hard actually) TO WRITE   
> and this just in; tedros's surname isn't actually meredith: no one is surprised! (apart from maybe Sophie)  
> but I guess you already know who's gonna meet each other next chapter...


	5. a specific problem

Hester is almost disappointed that Tedros seems to have anticipated their presence.

He stands in the doorway and stares at them tiredly, painted, glittered eyes moving over the Coven, who stare coldly back at him, to Sophie, who's sat at the back, staring determinedly at her expensive rings, trying to avoid his eyes. 

"Come in and si'down." Hester commands. She doesn't know if he'll listen- he looks rather as if he wants to bolt, but where can he go? He can't leave the speakeasy, looking like that, and being who they know he is. And they all know full well who's sat out in the bar with the now distraught Nicola, and she rather thinks Tedros does, too.

So Tedros comes in and sits down, perching awkwardly and stiffly on the vanity stool. He's very open, Hester thinks, which is probably going to make him very easy to crack.

"D'you know why we've come to chat with you?"

Tedros clearly thinks of something snarky to say, but he catches her eye as he glances up, and looks back down without saying anything.

"No." He mutters, even though he clearly does. Hester hides a smirk.

"What can you tell us 'bout your family?"  She asks innocently.

"My family?"

Hester rolls her eyes.

"Everyone has one, like it or not. Yeah, you sap, your family. Who are they? Don't think any of us know any Merediths."

Tedros looks uncomfortable.

"Meredith family- traders. Stocks."

"Successful?"

"Moderately."

Hester can see Anadil watching the conversation carefully, red eyes narrowed, tapping her pale fingers on her knees. She's focused in that narrow, detailed way of hers that Hester admires so- but she hasn't accused him of lying yet.

Odd. Then again, he's not quite answering properly, is he?

"Father, specifically?"

Here's where he looks shifty.

"… War veteran, too."

Well, that's not a lie, but it's a vague statement that nearly stretches the truth.

"High up?"

Tedros shrugs reluctantly.

"Sort of."

 _Sort of._ Hester nearly snorts. He's a dreadful liar- that's a huge reach. But she's not interested in that bit. Maybe someone else would be, but not her, not now.

"Any siblings?"

"No, none."

Now _that_ pisses her off, because he delivers it so very well.

It's almost as if he believes it.

Suddenly his floundering and unconvincing answers are less amusing.

" _Half_ -siblings?" She demands.

"I haven't got any siblings." Tedros repeats emphatically. Behind her, Anadil and Dot look at each other, doubtful. Sophie fiddles with her jewels, uncomfortable.

Hester's face must reflect her fury, because Tedros shrinks away a little. 

"What are you-"

"Can I ask you a real straightforward question?" Hester asks.

"… I don't think my answer matters, does it?"

Hester bares her teeth, knowing full well it doesn't look like a smile at all.

"Damn right it don't. I wanna know exactly what you're hiding from us-"

"I-"

"Mr _Pendragon_."

Tedros falls silent. If not for his powder, Hester thinks he'd have gone visibly white.

She sees his jaw clench, unclench and clench again, his eyes darting between the four of them. Even Sophie has looked up, trying to glean his reaction to his real surname.

"Did you _really_ think you could just waltz in here and get away with it?" Snarls Hester. "You really thought we wouldn't know?"

Tedros shrinks away as she stands up, and she has the sudden urge to grab him by those pearls and let him know what she thinks of liars, especially liars with that cursed surname. "You're lucky Sophie didn't realise, if she had, she'd have ripped you to _shreds."_

Sophie winces. Tedros glances at her, terrified. No one looks sympathetic, though, not even Dot, which Hester notes with perhaps a little too much grim satisfaction.

Tedros looks wildly between them, beginning to panic.

"… I- I know that you don't like people like him, but-"

" _People like him_?" Hester barks. " _Like_ him?"

"You... have a specific problem with him?" Croaked Tedros.

Hester could have torn his head off.

" _A SPECIFIC PROBLEM_?" Hester erupts. "YOU DECEITFUL LITTLE SKIV! I COULD-"

Behind her, Anadil leaps to her feet.

"Boss-!"

Hester stops shouting.

Everyone turns to the doorway.

The woman in the dark suit leans on the doorframe, holding her glass idly, as if she was just passing, but for all Hester knows, (and she suspects she probably has) she could have been there the whole time.

Everyone stays silent as she saunters inside and closes the door with a snap, then stands there, looking at them, and they stare back.

She raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not stopping you. Yet." She says in her low rasp.

Hester turns back to Tedros, who's lost interest in her, even though she's right up in his face- he's staring at Lady A with mingling terror and curiosity on his face. His powder is running off as he sweats.

Sophie looks worried.

Hester thinks he looks pathetic.

"Well, here she is, big-timer." She snarls, forcing his attention back to her. "Wanna take a shot at her now and be done with it?"

Tedros just looks at her now, still with fear, but his eyes are _confused_ , more than anything. Hester doesn't trust herself to say anything, and apparently the others can tell, because Anadil takes over.

"That's what they sent you for, right?" She asks simply.

"I- _what_?" Croaks Tedros.

Something's not right, but Hester's angry and he's a liar, a liar with the surname Pendragon-

"ARE YOU PLAYING DUMB ON PURPOSE?" she roars. "WE KNOW DAMN WELL THAT YOU'RE WORKING WITH THEM-"

"I don't understand!" Tedros splutters. "I-I'm not working with anyone-"

"Hester." Says someone quietly, firmly, but she's not listening properly, even when a hand takes her wrist.

The voice is the one that he's come to silence-

Hester's blood surges white hot.

She shakes off the hand- and shoves Tedros, hard.

Sophie shrieks, Dot yelps, and even Anadil gasps as he hits the vanity- a perfume bottle shatters and Tedros crashes to the floor, but she ignores it all and starts forward-

The hand on her wrist is back, and now yanks her around, none too gently.

" _Hester_ , he doesn't _know._ "

She stops.

Lady A is not angry, exactly, but she is cold and purposeful, the manner which makes Hester cool a little- she's not concerned, just irritated. And if she's not concerned, it should be fine...

But Hester frowns, now, as she strides over to stand by Tedros, as he clutches his bleeding hand, which he presumably sliced on the debris of the bottle.

Dot is coughing, overwhelmed by the spilt perfume, Sophie is sneezing, and even Anadil has covered her nose, but Hester just stands there.

"…What?"

"He ain't lying about that. Si'down."

Hester stares at her boss.

She hasn't bothered to take her hat off. No doubt she cuts an intimidating figure, by the way Tedros is pressed against the table legs, but Hester just stares at her shadowy profile.

"But he's got the sur-"

"I know. _Si'down_."

She sits down. And stares in disbelief as her boss yanks Tedros to his feet, pulls him to the small sink, and puts his bleeding hand under the tap.

Tedros gapes at her. So does everyone else. But she doesn't say anything, not until she's finished her drink, bound his hand, and pointed him to a seat next to Sophie.

Dot is whispering to Anadil. Hester's blood is pounding in her ears. She can barely hear them, not that she much wants to. But she _can_ hear Tedros sniffling in a pathetic sort of way behind her, and her hands itch.

This better be good.

 

* * *

 

Tedros had seen Lady A when she'd entered the speakeasy that night, but up-close, it was worse- she was colder, more intimidating. He can see her scarred face and knuckles, see those hard, dark unreadable eyes glimmering with unsettling intelligence. She's very sharply lined in general- straight nose and jaw, tall and thin, immaculately pressed suit and flat, straight brows.

She tucks her hands into her pockets, hiding away several heavy rings, and looks at him like she's looking at a mildly irritating animal, almost unbothered. It's not what he's used to- he's used to clear emotions, usually adoration or hatred. Adoration tends to win, especially in this outfit, as it happens, so her unclear face is unsettling.

Finally, she says;

"Tedros Pendragon."

He doesn't know what to say, so he stays silent.

"Using his mother's maiden name as a moniker here… both you an' I know that's no good as a fake name."

Tedros knows its shit, but he's not some sort of movie character, and he'd not thought he'd run into any trouble for it.

... Hah.

The Lady continues;

"He weren't lying about the Merediths being stock traders- they are, only his singular connection to them is somewhat tenuous. Not around much."

Tedros starts.

"You know that-"

"Your mother's left? Yeah, I do. I also know what you're at pains to hide; that your dad's a big-shot ex-General who dedicates rather a lot of his time to chasin' bootleggers, even though he has a drinkin' problem. Ironic where you are now, huh?"

Tedros isn't sure whether to be ashamed or impressed.

There it was. He didn't know how she knew it, but she did, and now it was out.

"Yes. Yeah. General Arthur." He mutters, not even daring to look at Hester- but, to his surprise, Sophie seems to look… _relieved_?

He glances at her, and she actually _smiles_ at him, patting his arm.

"We've all got some dodgy family, doll, I'm surprised you didn't tell us. You told Chaddick, right?"

"He guessed." Tedros says weakly, remembering his panic after Chaddick had accused him.

"Not as stupid as he looks." Muses Dot cheerfully.

Sophie catches her sister's gaze and laughs.

"Yes _, all_ of us have dodgy family. You're not exactly reputable, darling."

Lady A rolls her eyes and ignores her, still considering him silently.

Tedros decides it's about time to ask.

"Who… did you think I was working with?"

Hester stiffens. A flicker of something passes across Lady A's face, but Tedros can't identify it.

"It doesn't matter." She says shortly. "It only matters that you're not. We're not… on good terms, shall we say?"

"…oh." Says Tedros faintly, very sure he's not being told something. "Right."

Hester draws a breath, and for a minute, Tedros is sure she's about to explode again-

Then she stands, abruptly, and stalks towards the door. Anadil gets up and follows her.

But before she gets there, she grabs Lady A's elbow-

"Don't you forget what they did." She hisses. "No matter what else has happened."

"I ain't likely to." Says the Lady, suddenly cold, meeting her eyes levelly.

For a minute they stand there at odds, starkly different despite their similar dress and colouring.  Hester, scarlets and blacks, intense and aggressive, and her pale, silent boss with those hard eyes. Hester, standing with Anadil behind her, Lady A with no one.

Then both of their gazes drop, and they stare down at Lady A's left side for a long moment.

No one moves. Tedros hardly dares breathe.

Hester stands there for a minute longer.

And then she drops her boss's arm and strides out, Anadil with her, and Dot gets up and scurries after them, not to be left behind.

* * *

 

They stay there in silence, for a minute, Tedros and the two sisters.

Tedros has about twenty more questions, but one of them prevails over all the others.

"Are… you going to fire me?" He manages to ask Sophie. His hand is stinging badly now, and the spilt perfume is making his nose itch. He just wants to get his makeup off and go to bed. His heels are making his feet ache.

Sophie looks surprised-

And then unsure.

She glances up at Lady A, who raises a single eyebrow.

"Why?" She says, as if he's making some sort of case for it.

"…because of… everything?" Tedros offers.

"No."

" _Seriously?"_

"Why should I? You're real popular. You make us a lotta money. You're not a threat, provided you don't go runnin' off to your dad, and I don't think after that, you will." She pauses, apparently trying to decide if she should say something. "For what it's worth, I think you're decent."

Tedros would have been less surprised if she'd hit him.

"… really?"

"Don't push it." She grumbles.

"I can come to your table, if you like." Grins Tedros, knowing full well he's _definitely_ pushing it.

"Can it, Meredith."

That takes him aback, and she obviously sees it.

"You'd prefer Pendragon?"

"…no. No. That's fine."

"Thought so. Well, then…"

She offers him her hand.

"Seeing as I wasn't here for your first few weeks- welcome to Avalon, Meredith."

"Thank you." Tedros mumbles, taking her hand absently. He couldn't help noticing that she'd offered him her right, meaning he didn't have to use his injured hand.

He wonders if it was intentional.

Probably not.

(Probably?)

He looks up into her face, curious-

And as he meets her eyes, he gets the oddest feeling of familiarity- like he's done this before, stood and shook hands with the solemn girl in her dark suit.

He can't have. He doesn't even know her name, and he'd have remembered meeting Lady A.

But she's familiar, all the same. Not that he knows why.

There's an odd expression on her face, and maybe it's just Tedros, but it almost looks like-

"Well, then." She straightens her jacket in a very final sort of way- and as she does so, her face closes off completely. Before Tedros knows it, she's swiping her empty glass from the side table and heading for the door.

"I'd avoid Hester a couple of days, if I were you, but she'll cool off."

Tedros flexes his bad hand, disbelieving. Lady A shrugs at him, Sophie sweeping over to grab onto her arm. They make an odd pair, Tedros thinks, seeing them stood together. The two girls, one in her furs and silks and pearls and the other in her plain suits. Sophie, though, is all there on the surface. Her sister is anything but.

"She's an… _acquired taste_ , but she means well. I am sorry I didn't stop her shoving you, though. Mostly."

"Oh." Tedros looks down at his hand, feeling as if her sentiment was slightly backwards. "Thanks. I think."

Something that could have been amusement crosses her face.

"Until next time, Meredith." 

Sophie waves at him as she trots alongside her sister.

"Bye, Teddy! See you tomorrow!"

The door closes behind them, leaving Tedros to stare at his mess of a vanity and wonder what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so who did they think he was working with?????????  
> who am i kidding lmao i'm trying to be coy about it but you're all gonna guess soon if you haven't already  
> anyway tell me what you think!!


	6. informants and information

Hester is waiting in her office when she gets back- she can see her familiar shadow, visible through the gap in the ajar door.

Sophie hesitates, hand wavering on her arm, and Lady A waves her off.

"I'll talk to her. I'll see you in the morning."

Sophie looks unhappy about this decision, but she doesn't argue. It's possible she still feels guilty about her involvement in the whole debacle. Not that it became one, in the end, but Sophie has been funny about anything to do with that particular family for a long time.

"…alright, then. See you, Aggie."

She forces a smile and swoops away, clattering her way down the corridor, and Lady A- or, rather, _Aggie_ , as she was known her sister- watches her go silently.

Then she opens the door to confront Hester.

Hester who is sat at her desk, with her boots propped up on the table top.

"You got some explainin' to do, boss." She says, as if she's in charge.

"Get your boots off of my desk." Her boss closes the door and locks it.

"No. Explain."

She doesn't- instead, she strips off her jacket and hat, tossing them haphazardly onto a nearby chair, loosening her tie and unbuttoning her waistcoat.

"How'd you know about him?" Persists Hester. "We've all been out of town."

"Just because I'm out of town, don't mean I'm not paying attention to what's happenin' _in_ town. Get outta my chair."

"Tell me how you knew."

"Don't be a pain, Hester, I'm not in the mood." Growls the other woman, hurling her tie on top of her hat and crossing the room to slam the windows shut and wrench across the curtains. "Who left this room so goddamn exposed-?"

" _Agatha._ " Snaps Hester from behind her.

Lady A -really Agatha- stills.

Hester never called her by her real name. She's never asked her why, but she suspects it's easier for her to avoid it, because she associates it with numerous things she'd rather forget.

"You really wanna know, huh?"

"There's a lot you don't tell me." Says Hester shortly.

 If it’s meant to make her feel guilty, it doesn’t work.

“Sure. Can’t have you arguin’ with me all the time, can I?”

“How do you know him?”

“Who says I know him?” Agatha says brusquely. Hester eyes her, unimpressed.

“It’s obvious.”

It’s not, but Hester always picks up on things that the others don’t.

When she doesn’t reply, Hester growls and flings her feet down from the table.

“Agatha, you knew damned well that he didn’t know anything about them, and you let us go in, anyway. Why?”

“I wasn’t really expecting you to throw him.” Murmurs Agatha, sinking into her sofa. “Poor sucker.” She says it without much feeling, even though she did feel some degree of sympathy for Tedros. But Hester wouldn’t appreciate the feeling much.

Hester scowls deeply.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I wasn’t _sure.”_ Agatha snaps. “They’re completely separate from one another, so far as I know, but I thought there could have been a chance- things I hadn’t noticed. But it was obvious when he started talkin’ bout his old man that he thought it was about Arthur, an’ you and I both know it wasn’t about that at all. Why did _you_ think he was workin’ with ‘em?”

“Because he used a fake name, showed up out of nowhere, has real the surname Pendragon, and wouldn’t tell us shit?”

Fair enough.

Agatha huffs out a breath and doesn’t say anything, which is her way of letting Hester know she’s made a valid point. They’re both cautious, and Agatha would have done the same, in her place.

Not that the other woman looks satisfied by that.

“But you _do_ know him, don’t you?” She presses. “And that Hort kid-”

“Tedros is Arthur Pendragon’s son,” Agatha says shortly. “And Hort is a butcher’s boy. You know enough to work out the rest.”

“I know _-?_ Oh.” Hester’s eyes widen as Agatha looks pointedly at the photograph of two women on her desk. “ _Oh._ ”

“Got there in the end.” Murmurs Agatha. Hester glares at her, but it’s half-hearted.

“And neither of them recognised you?”

“Nah, they both did, but they don’t know where from, or anything about me. And most likely won’t work it out.” Agatha wanders over to the bedroom adjacent from her office, stripping off her shirt and waistcoat and tossing them onto her bed.

Hester is unbothered- years of arguing and scheming and a couple of past hook-ups have made them close, closer than most realise- but Agatha can see her staring at her anyhow, at her tattooed back and arms, and the scars which showed through, raising or warping the ink, and the two most prominent, visible on both sides. One in her shoulder and one in her hip- old now, but not old enough to have stopped aching periodically. They were too serious for that.

She pulls a clean shirt from the wardrobe and turns back to Hester, who doesn’t even bother to pretend she wasn’t staring.

“Do they still give you trouble?” She asks bluntly. Agatha raises her eyebrows.

“Am I seriously detectin’ concern from the fearsome leader of the Coven?”

“Piss off, it’s just a question.” Growls Hester, ears going red. Agatha grins at her.

“Aw, baby, we can keep neckin’ if you like, I just thought you were real hung up on Ani-”

She nearly laughs at the look on Hester’s face.

“I told you to keep quiet about that!” Hester growls, looking around wildly as if she expects Anadil to appear out of the floor.

“So you _are_ , huh?”

“I hate you. And you dodged the question.” Grunts Hester, as Agatha ignores her, slipping on her new shirt and reclaiming her jacket and waistcoat.

Hester frowns.

“Are you goin’ somewhere?”

“ _We_ are. Whilst you were bullyin’ our new friend Mr Meredith, Nicola was giving me the updates on this fella who’s been hangin’ around Gavaldon, askin’ all the wrong questions and stickin’ his nose in all the wrong business. That’s why I went to Gavaldon first when we came back; to have a look. I sent Bogden to follow him out, and he came back and told me somethin’ _very_ interestin’.”

Hester raises her eyebrows.

Agatha smiles grimly, hand moving unconsciously to her scarred hip.

“Looks like our old friends have resurfaced again. We’re going to Gavaldon and gettin’ rid of an informant.”

 

* * *

 

Agatha can easily go places without being recognised. She knows plenty of bosses who can’t (more like won’t) go anywhere without peacocking and intimidating, but what _she_ knows is sometimes, it’s much easier not to.

With her hair pulled up and her hat pulled down, her tall, skinny figure is easily written off as a young man’s, and it’s perfectly simple to settle in a corner booth and wait it out. Most bosses would send someone else to do this, to clamp hands on shoulders and usher marks into alleys with a gun to the back, but this is personal, and when it’s personal, you know damn well that she does it herself.  Hester is outside, loitering in a nearby alley, waiting for her arrival.

It doesn’t take her long to spot him- he’s at the same table as he was last time, talking loudly to the bartenders. To grab him now would be effective in terms of intimidation, but utterly wasteful in terms of subtlety. The bar is crowded, the acts are still on, and she doesn’t want this getting out all at once. She wants them to suspect, not to outright know, that she’s responsible. Not yet, anyway.

She can see Willam, the bartender who sometimes works at Avalon, frowning, despite the man’s attempts at charm. No doubt he can tell that the incessant questioning is less than innocent.

Agatha sits back and watches him out of the corner of her eye. He’s well-dressed, well mannered, well everything. He has the same look as Tedros, in some ways- a little arrogant, a little cocky, a little pampered. He's a rich man’s son. Not surprising, knowing who he’s working with. Agatha supposes he gets a cushy deal out of it- free or cheap alcohol, money, girls. Pathetic.

It doesn’t take long for him to get cocky. The first few times Agatha and Nicola had seen him, he’d been constantly looking over his shoulder, obvious in his uncertainty. But as no one had approached him, he’d become more relaxed, obviously confident that he was getting away with it.

Sap.

He’s drinking more and more, too; at the rate he’s going, he’ll be positively compliant when she goes up to him.

Speaking of which…

He checks his watch, blanches, and lurches unsteadily to his feet, swaying like a new tree in strong winds as he totters his way across the bar.

When she stands up, she sees Bogden and Willam exchange nervous glances, from where they’re stood at the end of the bar.

She tips her hat to them and follows her target towards the door.

 

* * *

 

He’s so drunk, he doesn’t notice her.

In fact, he doesn’t notice anything, until Hester emerges from the alley behind Agatha and clamps her hand onto his shoulder.

He jerks, shocked, and struggles to turn, but she keeps him firmly in place, fingers digging into his jacket.

“Evenin’, Mr Baker. May I ask where you’re goin’ on a night as fine as this one?”

“Jus’… home. Who are you?” he demands, still straining his neck to try and see her.

“All in good time.” Hester said smoothly. “Where’d you get that pocket watch from? It’s awful swanky.”

It’s also awful familiar, and both women stood behind him know it.

In his drunken haze, he actually gets it halfway out of his pocket before it occurs to him that it might not be a good idea. But it’s too late, even as he tries to shove it back in- Agatha’s seen the familiar initials.

“Ah. Thought so.” She murmurs.

Shocked at a second, voice, he tries to turn again, but Hester holds him forwards. “How long have you known them, Mr Baker?” she demands.

“Known- known who?” stammers the man.

“Now, darlin’-” Hester steers him slowly but firmly away from the main road, and he tenses visibly. Agatha stays behind- no use in letting him see her yet. “Let’s not play dumb. I know what you’re here for, and it ain’t a good time.”

“You-”

“I’m afraid you ain’t too subtle when it comes to gatherin’ information. And even less so when it comes to who you’re workin’ for.”

“I ain’t workin’ for no one, bearcat! Lemme go! What d’you wan-”

He feels the barrel of her gun press against his back and stops.

“…ah.”

“Yeah.” Hester smiles unpleasantly. “Mind tellin’ me what you want from my boss’s clubs, Mr Baker? Or more accurately- what do _your_ bosses want?”

The man swallows hard. As she steps around so she’s in his line of vision, her gun still pressed firmly to his heart, it’s clear that he recognises her- his eyes leap to the demon just above her shirt and his eyes widen.

“I dunno what they want- I dunno! I jus’ got told to find out about the people at Gavaldon-”

He stops abruptly, aware he’s saying 8too much.

“That’s awful vague.” Says Hester icily. “I didn’t think the two of them made a habit of bein’ vague. Were they vague about how much they were payin’ you, too?”

“No-“

“No. Tell the truth.”

Hester presses the gun a little harder, and the man starts to babble, sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip- and he’s obviously trying to think of a way out.

“I wasn’t gonna cause no trouble- jus’ find out what they told me and go and get my- uh, go and leave it at that-”

“Get your _reward?”_ Growls Hester. “What’d they offer you to find out about Gavaldon, huh? Free drink?”

The look on his face confirms it.

“Typical.” Hester murmurs. “Just buy the damned stuff. Keeps you outta trouble.”

They both know that’s not strictly true, but what they really mean is out of trouble with _them._

“Well I- no, I-”

Hester moves the gun up, and he cracks.

“They told me to find out about Lady A!” he babbles desperately. “They sent me to Gavaldon, it’s her main club, they say she frequents it, told me to see if I could see her, ask around, get up to date- they say that they have history, and they’d pay me for anything I could tell em’, they’d let me get free drinks at Foxwood- but I ain’t ever seen her, jus’ asked around, never seen her. I never meant to cause no trouble, jus’ get my drinks and my girls and go…”

He trails off, staring desperately at Hester.

“I could take you to ‘em! If you know this club they’d give you all sorts for the goods- money, boys-lots of boys-”

He stops at the look on her face.

“Wrong offer.” Hester says coldly.

All the colour seeps out of Mr Baker’s face.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do, Mr Baker, sir.” She tells him. “It’s your lucky day. You’re gonna get your information.”

The man’s eyebrows lift.

“What d’you-”

“Come an’ say hi, boss.”

Agatha moves around to stand with Hester, and if he looked horrified before, there’s no matching it now.

Agatha has no instantly distinguishing attributes that mark her as Lady A, nothing like Hester’s demon or Anadil’s cold red gaze, but there’s hints, and hints are often enough. In the form of her expensive, pressed suits, her jewel-set rings and tie pins. In her young but grim face, the hang of her coat that suggests concealed weapons. They’re often enough to confirm suspicions.

Plus, everyone knows that there’s only one person Hester answers to.

“Here she is, Mr Baker.” Says Hester cheerfully. “You’ve seen her now. Unfortunately, she saw you first.”

Mr Baker makes a vague noise in the back of his throat. Agatha almost feels sorry for him. He thought it would be easy, a cushy side deal to get him a couple of extra luxuries he wasn’t willing to pay for.

Well, now he was going to pay for them ten times over. His attempts at lying, his offers of boys and his acceptance of young women as rewards had made sure of that.

“But you’ve got your information, right? Unfortunately, what they told you was rather outdated. I’m sure you’d like the chance to set it right?”

He nods slowly.

“Well you’re not going to get one.” Says Hester, the mirth sliding off of her face so suddenly it was unsettling, even though Agatha has seen her do it hundreds of times before. “In fact, you’re not going to get back to them.”

It takes a few seconds for him to realise what she means, by which time the gun has moved to his head.

“ _No!_  I- I could work for you! I know about them, they tell me loads, I know about their family, too, they’ve got more, a step-family-”

How topical. Hester shuts him up by pressing the gun harder, and he starts to shriek.

“I can pay you! I can pay you, my family are rich, very rich- no, no I could change loyalties! I could work for you, I’d do better, they wouldn’t have to know-!”

“Funny.” Says Hester. “That’s exactly why we wouldn’t want you.”

“I’m a good man!” he begs. “I’m a rich man’s son, I’m respectable, I’m honest, I know a lot-”

“Which is exactly why you got caught.” Says Hester. “You knew _too much_. But, thankfully, you’re never gonna tell anyone it.”

She pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof that escalated didn't it
> 
> let me know how i'm doing and what you think in the comments!! <3


	7. a job well done

Anadil is waiting for them when they get back, early the next morning. She sits on the empty bar with a bottle of whiskey and a pot of coffee, and greets them with a casual attitude that suggests she knows exactly where they’ve been and what they’ve been doing.      

Agatha doesn’t look at all surprised. Hester tells Anadil everything, and they all know it.

“Job well done?”

“He’s dead, if that’s what you mean.” Hester mutters, accepting the proffered coffee. Agatha doesn’t respond- she’s been silent almost the whole remainder of the night, and Hester knows better than to nag at her when she’s like that.

Especially with who the situation concerns.

“Coffee, boss?” offers Anadil. Agatha shakes her head vaguely.

“I’m good. I gotta-”

Something crashes backstage.

Hester’s immediately tense, hand flying to her gun, but Agatha waves her off, almost absent-mindedly.

“Don’t bother. It’s Meredith.”

“ _Meredith?_ How’d you know that?”

“Saw him goin’ back in, just now, when you were checkin’ the car. Saw us and scarpered.”

“Where’s he been, then?”

“His old man’s.” she answers immediately.

Hester goggles at her, somewhere between amazed and exasperated.

“How do you even _know_ this shit-”

“Because I _watch_ people, Hester.” Snaps Agatha. “When we came back down I saw he’d changed back into normal clothes, it couldn’t be anywhere else- his stage clothes are a decent disguise, so he wouldn’t need to change unless he was going to see someone who didn’t know about his little _side job…_ and his old man keeps funny hours. Probably all that Foxwood coffin varnish.”

“Arthur Pendragon gets drink from Foxwood?” splutters Hester. “What’s he doin’ drinkin’ himself unconscious? He raids speakeasies!”

“Sure he does, but he’s rich, ain’t he?” yawns Agatha. “Normal rules don’t apply to him, because he can pay ‘em off. He just won’t let us have our fun. Or most of us, anyway. Foxwood won’t be raided by him, that’s for damned sure, not while they’re puttin’ all that drink in his glass. And he won’t be catchin’ me, I can guarantee that.”

Apparently concerned that the conversation was over, she starts to head off, leaving Hester utterly exasperated behind her.

“You comin’ tonight?” demands Anadil. “Dot’s bringin’ in the new shipment.”

Agatha glances over her shoulder at them.

“Yeah, funnily enough, I already knew about that. Maybe because it’s _my_ liquor, comin’ in on my orders?”

“You’re _such_ a killjoy.” Anadil flings her legs onto the bar, stretching like a cat. Hester can’t help but admire the way she defies the respect that Agatha usually commands. “Maybe we wanna see you, ever consider that?”

Agatha ignores her last comment.

“I’m showin’.” She confirms. “But _only_ cause I got a couple things to find out. And if the liquor ain’t up to standard, someone’s bein’ taken for a ride, you hear?”

“Hear you loud and clear, boss.” Chirps Anadil. They all know it’s an empty threat; they’re no gin mill, and the liquor is as good as it can be when it’s made in someone’s bathtub.

Agatha snorts as she disappears through the side door, leaving Hester and Anadil to stare after her.

“Sometimes, I really don’t get her.” Growls Hester.

“That’s cause she don’t want you to.” Sighs Anadil. “As bleedin’ evasive as you can manage to be, that woman.” She pauses. “So you caught a mole at Gavaldon?”

“Yeah. Some rich kid who’d been promised a lot to do a little bit of diggin’. Offered lotsa girls, mainly. Not that he’ll get ‘em, now. He did a shit job, anyhow.”

“Good.” Says Anadil, with surprising venom. “Good. And he was…?”

“Sent by them, yeah.” Says Hester heavily. Anadil frowns, toying with her coffee mug.

“They haven’t done anything that direct in a good few years.”

“I know. She’d sooner be plugged full of holes than admit it, but I think the boss is concerned ‘bout it, especially cause it’s happenin’ now.”

Anadil shoots her a glance.

“You think it’s because of…”

“Him? And how.” Hisses Hester. “I _bet_ they know, or at least suspect. If there’s a single whisper of anythin’, of us bein’ ruined because of him, he’s out. I’ll take him for a ride myself if he don’t keep his mouth shut.”

Anadil nods slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah. We can’t risk it.”

She’s clearly remembering their encounter with Tedros after the show. So is Hester, and now she casts a dark look towards the door.

“But the boss might.”

There’s a significant pause. Anadil doesn’t seem to be able to deny it- she just shakes her head, bewildered.

“She doesn’t even know him. Why would she…”

She trails off at the pointed look on Hester’s face.

“She _knows_ him _?”_

“Remember whose son he is.” Hester says grimly. Anadil’s eyes widen.

“Arthur Pendragon’s. But she never…”

“He don’t know why he knows her, that much is bleedin’ obvious.” Mutters Hester, adding more whiskey to her coffee. “But she recognises _him_ , and that’s more dangerous.”

Anadil is silent for a minute, considering this with her pale brows drawn together. Hester sips her coffee slowly.

“I wonder what she’s gotta find out.. _.”_ Muses Anadil. Hester frowns.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with him…”

Her eyes fall on a specific table, set for two, near the stage. They’d sat behind it last night.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Meredith ain’t the only newcomer to have connections to our charmin’ young Agatha.” Says Hester, throwing back the rest of her coffee and standing. “Come on. We can help with findin’ out about this particular mark.”

“We can?”

Hester grins as she saunters towards the door.

“Well, I bet you that Nicola will be _very_ willin’ to give us the goods on him, as of now.”

* * *

 

Tedros hadn’t expected it to sting so much.

His father had refused to see him before; not come down for meals, not paid attention when he was ill or upset or what-have-you. But maybe after the chaos of the night, the idea of being rejected again was too much.

He hadn’t even come down himself- Tedros had barely gotten through the door before the housekeeper was there, telling him that his father didn’t want to see him, and that it would probably be best if he left, because there was no point.

There was no changing Arthur’s mind when he was like that, they both knew.

Scowling, he slams his way through the stage door and stalks back to his dressing room, possibly making more noise than was strictly advisable, considering the fact he’d seen Hester and Lady A returning to the club less than a minute after him. He didn’t know where they’d been, or what they were doing in the small hours of the morning, and he’d prefer not to. At the very least, he didn’t want to have another altercation with-

“At least _try_ to leave the place intact, won’t you, Meredith?”

_Shit._

Tedros turns to see Lady A stood by the wall, staring at him expectantly, as if she’d been waiting for him.

“You saw me come in, didn’t you?” he mutters, too tired and downtrodden to try and talk his way out of anything, let alone to Lady A.

“You’re pretty distinctive.” Agrees Lady A.

“And I suppose you want to know what I was doing, if I was trying to betray you, and, if I was, Hester will come and blow my brains out onto your nice clean floor?”

For a second, he thinks the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

“Not particularly. I know where you went, I don’t need to ask.”

“… of course you do.” Sighs Tedros. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. It had been made clear that she knew much more than seemed plausible. She probably had informants at every turn. Or maybe she was just observant to the point of terrifying.

Probably both.

“What tale did you spin to him, just outta interest?” she asks. It’s delivered idly enough, but he knows lying or evading is out of the question. She wants to know, and know she will.

Tedros scowls.

“I didn’t get the chance. He wouldn’t see me.”

The Lady’s eyebrows lift. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be sympathy, surprise, both, or neither.

“Ah.”

“Yeah. I was going to try this, though.”

Deciding he may as well try and show her that he’s not planning to sell them out to his bootlegger-and-gangster-hunting father, considering he was almost completely sure she was both, Tedros digs a sheet of paper out of his coat and hands it to her.

He watches her scan the sheet, eyes narrowed.

“Julliard.” She snorts. “How fitting.”

“It’s for my musical education.” Says Tedros, deadpan.

“Well, ain’t that just ducky.” She snorts- then pauses, considering. “It’s not a bad forgery, actually.”

Tedros shrugs. 

“Could have been worse. He wasn’t going to look at it for more than ten seconds, and focusing on it? Unlikely.”

He expects her to hand it back, then, but she doesn’t. She stares at it, contemplating…

“I can solidify it.” She tells him without looking up.

“Huh?”

“I can mock up some more proof for you, should you need it.”

“…really?”

She shrugs.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t get busted three days in because you’re a shitty liar.”

“I’m not-”

The look on her face makes him re-evaluate his claim.

“…whatever.” He mumbles. “Thank you. That would be good.”

She hands the letter back to him silently, and, as her eyes shift to meet his, Tedros has another flash of undeniable recognition.

He blurts it out before he can stop himself, curiosity overriding caution;

“Have we met before?”

Lady A pauses.

“What, not countin’ earlier?”

“No, before that, obviously.”

“…Why do you wanna know?”

“You just… seem familiar.” Mumbles Tedros. The familiarity is gone again- he can’t pinpoint what it was. But he’s seen it twice now, and it’s no coincidence.

She’s silent for a moment, looking carefully at him, as if trying to work out whether she can tell him something or not.

“No.” she says, finally. “No. I think you’d know if you’d encountered Lady A before.”

Would he? Tedros isn’t sure.

Before he can respond, a door bangs open down the hall, and Beatrix comes skidding towards him.

“Teddy-! Oh. Hello, boss.”

“Beatrix.” Says the Lady easily, apparently not wanting an answer from Tedros. Pushing herself off the wall, she tips her hat to Beatrix and strides past them, heading towards the stairs. “I’ll get the cover to you in the next few days, Meredith. See you at the party, tonight.”

“You’re coming?” Tedros asks, surprised.

“I gotta know what I’m writin’ the paychecks for, ain’t I? So make sure you’re all floorflushers tonight, yeah?”

“Always are, boss.” Says Beatrix, somewhat proudly. “No heelers here. Sophie sees to that.”

“And how.”

Lady A disappears into the dim corridor, leaving Tedros and Beatrix stood in silence together, watching her go.

Once her footsteps have faded and Tedros is certain she’s gone, he turns to Beatrix;

“I knew you were lying about not knowing her well.”

Beatrix shrugs, shameless.

“Kiko’d have kittens if she found out. You saw what she was like when I mentioned talkin’ to the boss even once. Tremblin’. Imagine if she knew I was workin’ close with her. She’d keel over.”

Tedros makes a vague noise of agreement, still lost in thought.

“What’d she want with you, anyhow?” Beatrix yawns. “I can’t see the daylight shinin’ through you, so it can’t’ve been anything bad.”

Tedros shrugs.

“I’m not sure. She knew where I’d been, offered to solidify the story I’m spinning to my father, but she didn’t ask me anything.”

Beatrix raises her eyebrows.

“Usually the boss don’t talk to no-one, ‘less she wants something from ‘em. Trying to work you out, I’ll wager. Probably wondering if you were gonna try to lie to her.”

“I’m no sap.” Mutters Tedros.

Beatrix grins up at him, apparently pleased that her efforts to get him to stop talking like a mark are paying off.

“You sure ain’t, Teddy. You sure ain’t. Now come on. I gotta go and choose my outfit.”

“For tonight? It’s 4am. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Beauty is a full-time job, Teddy. And anyway, you make it kinda hard, what with that crashing around trying to get in and out. No wonder the boss caught you.”

“Huh?”

“Wanna tell me ‘bout your father?”

“You’re not my therapist!” splutters Tedros.

“True, but I got tea and a couple rings you could borrow for tonight. Come on, big-timer. I know _all_ the gossip.”

Sighing, Tedros lets her grabs his hand and tow him along the corridor to her dressing room- but even as she does, he finds himself thinking back on his conversation with Lady A.

_“No. I think you’d know if you’d encountered Lady A before.”_

Evasive. Vague. Perfectly in character.

But somehow, for some, unknown reason, he finds himself perfectly sure that she’s lying to him.

They _have_ met before. He knows it. And he intends to find out when. And why, exactly, she had pretended otherwise.

It seems that he’s not the only one keeping secrets around here.


	8. blackmail

The club is roaring like never before, that night.

Hort slips in late, and immediately has to duck as an empty glass goes sailing over his head, courtesy of someone who will not once wonder where their glass has gone and will wake up tomorrow with bigger concerns, like who took their best jacket, and having to work out exactly how much money they blew at the bar.

Sighing, he slips down the stairs and ducks into the crowd, heading for a table near the stage. It’s even worse than the previous night, and he certainly wouldn’t have come if he’d known it was going to be like this. Or he wouldn’t have come sober, at least.

Preferably, he would never have returned at all, but he’s got something to see.

He settles at his table from the previous night and stares closely at the dancers, and even though he can see several boys, none of them is who he’s looking for. He doesn’t look around for Sophie- not after his humiliation last time. Hopefully, he can stay unnoticed until he’s sure she’s forgotten, and Nicola has gone back to her own club.

Speaking of Nicola, she’s here _again-_ Hort can see her sat with three other women, two in black suits, the third in a green fringe dress, muttering together. There’s a guy sat with them, too, burly and very obviously used to a punch-up.

Hort sincerely hopes that guy is not his replacement.

His eyes move quicker than is strictly necessary, which is probably why they snag onto the table beside them and it takes him too long to work out who’s on it.

Lady A and Sophie sit together, watching the dancers- Sophie gleefully, almost with pride, and her sister poker-faced, as if she refuses to grant the luxury of her own opinion to anyone but herself. Sophie’s in a new dress, tonight, midnight blue satin surrounded by furs and silks and pearls- she’s impossible to miss, and impossible not to admire. It’s undoubtedly the intended effect, and Hort struggles to tear his eyes away from her.

But you’d have thought that, even next to glamorous Sophie, her sister would have still been glaringly obvious. Lady A had plunged the club into silence just by walking in last night, and she and Sophie contrasted so sharply that it was almost jarring.

But no one around them has so much as shot a second glance their way. The waiters are tense and Hort can see the nervous glances that the dancers are exchanging, the extra effort they’re putting into their spins and kicks, but the patrons simply don’t seem to register her.

Hort gets the uncomfortable impression that Lady A can choose whether or not she is noticed, and the idea makes him nervous. Maye that’s why he’d recognised her? Maybe she’d been around for weeks, in disguise. Maybe she was one of his father’s bosses. Maybe she was one of the boys who hung around on the street corner, smoking and throwing stones at cars-

_Get it together, Hort._ He scolds himself. She wouldn’t be masquerading as the head of a butcher’s chain, for god’s sake. She’s Sophie’s sister. No doubt she fleeces a much higher calibre of pigeon. Maybe a scammer, a pickpocket who’s a little _too_ good, maybe even on the same level as Arthur Pendragon, some military or government official with dodgy investments. She wouldn’t be the first, or the last.

But speaking of Arthur Pendragon…

Hort tears his eyes away from Lady A, remembering what- or, rather, who- he’s here for.

He and Ravan had been somewhere between amazed and aghast, last night, and Hort still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he had hallucinated the whole thing. He’d had to come again, to be sure.

Tedros _Pendragon_ , performing in a _speakeasy?_

If anyone had asked him, last week, to rank the least likely people ever to go to a speakeasy, he’d have said Tedros Pendragon was up there with the Pope and the President. His father was screwy, feverishly chasing after bootleggers and gangsters and raiding speakeasy after speakeasy (or the ones that he wasn’t friends with the owners of, anyway). Hort had assumed Tedros held the same beliefs.

But no. No, there he’d been, wearing stockings and lipstick and with infuriatingly good legs, and Hort was _sure_ that he’d looked right at him. He’d laughed afterwards, and Hort had been even _surer_ , but he’d not been able to find him after the show, to make sure he hadn’t made the whole thing up.

Tonight, he’s determined to find out.

 

* * *

 

He has to wait another half hour before his efforts are no longer futile. Hort is about ready to give up, head pounding from the noise and the smoke and the uncomfortable feeling that Lady A and Sophie are staring at him- when the curtains swish back and there he’s stood, in his stupid, handsome glory, tugging on his gloves and letting the audience holler incoherently at him. He seems to be rather enjoying himself.

Of course he is. Hort knows Tedros Pendragon, and if there’s one thing Tedros likes, its attention.

Bastard.

Scowling, Hort props his chin in his hand to watch the show, and wonders if he can get away with choking Tedros with his own pearls.

 

By the end of the show, though, Hort has stopped daydreaming about shoving him off the stage and is, instead, intrigued.

Tedros had done what was apparently his usual rounds, making a couple of girls faint, causing a fight between two drunken young men, et cetera. But Hort was certain he’d seen him grin at Sophie and even wink at Lady A, the mere idea of which made Hort feel like puking on the floor. Hort had always thought he was dumb, but that was past it…

But all questionable antics aside, this means that he _knows_ them. Tedros knows Sophie.

And Hort knows Tedros.

As Tedros finishes his performance to shrieking approval and drunken hoots, Hort decides that he might go out for a little air.

Maybe backstage is less stuffy…?

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t have long to wait.

He’s barely got back there, after distracting the guard took a little longer than anticipated, before he hears a clatter of heels and sees Tedros swooping down the stage steps, trailing pearls and a perfume so strong Hort’s eyes water, and he nearly misses him.

Nearly, though. Not completely.

He lunges and grabs Tedros around the waist, yanking him back into the alcove he’d concealed himself in-

Tedros lurches forwards, and, caught off guard as much as the other man, Hort staggers forwards too.

Swearing, Tedros slams into the opposite wall, sucks in a breath to shout, Hort clamps his hands over his mouth and Tedros bites him, Hort swears, too, and gets a grip on Tedros’s wrist, yanking him around to face him-

A sudden and excruciating pain blossoms in his face, and Hort flies backwards and crashes into a door, which bursts open, spilling him onto hard floorboards, and bashing his head on a table leg.

Groaning, he rolls onto his side, whole face throbbing-

The door slams shut and Hort forces open his smarting eye to see Tedros looming over him, holding a stool, presumably from the vanity, aloft, and looking absolutely mutinous.

“You punched me in the face.” Says Hort dumbly.

Tedros looks somewhere between bemused and furious as he recognises him.

“ _Hort?_ You absolute _bastard!_ What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?”

“You punched me.” Says Hort again, not quite able to comprehend it. “ _And_ you bit me.”

“What did you expect? I thought you were trying to kidnap me! What are you playing at?”

“I need a favour.” Says Hort stoutly, even though he’s aware how dumb it sounds.

“So you grabbed me around the _waist-?_ Wait. How did you know I was…?”

“I was here last night.” Hort tells him idly. “Ravan and I. We saw you perform. And I saw you today. Recognised you right away.”

Tedros goes from scarlet to white, slowly lowering the stool as the implications occur to him.

“You… I…”

“Some nice glad rags you got there.” Muses Hort. “Does your old man know about ‘em?”

“…what?”

Hort is still determined to get what he came for.

“You ain’t bad at this whole thing… I’m sure he’d like to know about your achievements.”

“Almost as easy as letting this slip?” says Tedros, with fake enthusiasm.

“Letting what-? _OW_!”

Tedros drops both the smile and the stool, and stalks over to lock the door.

Hort sits up, scowling, kicking away the vanity stool from where it had fallen, heavily, onto his feet.

“I thought you recognised me. You saw me yesterday.”

“I thought it was someone who _looked_ like you.” Growls Tedros, spinning back to face him. “That’s why I laughed. I didn’t think _you’d_ be _here._ Don’t you know that Nicola- who I hear is your ex, so I imagine you want to avoid her - is friends with Sophie? What do you want here?”

“Funny you should mention them.” Hort props his elbows on his knees, peering up at Tedros. “You know Sophie personally, right?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“D’you happen to know what type of fellas she likes?”

Tedros stares at him for a few seconds-

And then he lunges for the stool again.

Hort scampers back on his hands as Tedros’s first swipe goes wild and knocks over a coat rack.

“THAT’S-“

Swing.

“WHAT-“

Swing.

“THIS-“

Swing.

“IS ABOUT?” Tedros thunders, narrowly missing Hort for the third time. “DO YOU KNOW HOW TO ASK PEOPLE FOR THINGS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?”

“D’YOU KNOW HOW TO SAY _NO_ LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?” Hort roars back, now cowering under Tedros’s vanity.

_“I_ DIDN’T TRY TO KIDNAP YOU!”

“YOU’RE MAKING UP FOR IT NOW, THOUGH, AIN’T YA?”

“YOU’RE BLACKMAILING ME WITH MY FATHER, SO THAT I’LL PUT IN A GOOD WORD FOR YOU WITH _SOPHIE_?” Tedros howls. “ARE YOU _INSANE_?”

“No.” Hort says sourly, still from under the table. “But I’m an acquaintance of your father’s, and my mother works for him.”

Tedros stops shouting.

He’s silent for so long that Hort wonders briefly if he’s broken him.

He peeks up from under the vanity to see Tedros staring at him, apparently struggling with himself, by the way his jaw is working.

“If I’m gonna be so upfront ‘bout it, can I also get a discount on the drink and a pay rise for my mother? And a front table?” he asks.

Tedros goes a violent shade of puce. He’s obviously considering maiming him, but Hort can tell he’s going to cave- he can see his eyes moving to the mirror, then back to Hort, then back to the mirror.

If Arthur found out about this, both of them would be ruined. And if it got out, not only would Arthur’s name would be destroyed, so would his relationship with his son- Arthur would never forgive him. And Hort knows how badly Tedros struggles for his father’s approval.

Hort supposed he could just let him get caught, give the uncovering a nudge along, but something tells him that not even Tedros is stupid enough to embark on something so risky without a decent cover story.

So, instead, he crawls out from under the vanity, looking expectant.

“Well-?”

“Fine.” Tedros forces the word out as if costs him all the effort in his body. “ _Fine.”_

He collapses onto one of the sofas, defeated.

Hort grins, even if it hurts his aching face.

“Swell! Guess you’re in the clear- or at least you are until you inevitably get caught. Good talk, Tedros. You’ll introduce me to Sophie tomorrow?”

“I guess.” Says Tedros through clenched teeth.

“Attaboy. I’ll see myself out. ‘til tomorrow, big timer!”

Something has seeped out of Tedros’s expression, leaving him looking very young and vulnerable on the couch as Hort trots towards the door, but he tries to ignore it, even when a pang of guilt swells in his chest.

_He wasn’t really going to sell him out_. He assures himself as he heads home. _He wasn’t that mean._

(Was he?)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've seen this before in ACP but it's gonna work a lil differently in this fic! still similar though bc I'm too lazy to completely rework it lol


	9. unofficial orientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE IS SOME MODERATE VIOLENCE NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAPTER

Tedros prefers dancing in a group to performing alone.

Sure, performing alone is good, and he’s good _at_ it, but it doesn’t have the same rush. No quick spins or heel turns or the constant change and movement that keeps him entertained as he swaps from centre to the side to the back and then back again.

Well, he normally does, anyway. Right now, he’s more than a little irritated.

He can see Hort sat at Sophie’s table, and he can’t decide if he’s more irritated at himself or the other boy. It’s _obvious_ that Sophie isn’t interested, even as Hort jabbers away. Tedros had basically shoved Hort towards her to protect himself, and whilst being chatted at every night by an annoying butcher’s boy wasn’t _quite_ comparable to having said butcher’s boy expose your secret gig to your ex-army father and getting the club shut down, he still felt bad.

He catches his smile slipping, and rearranges his face so that his internal I-want-to-bash-Hort’s-head-in monologue isn’t visible externally. Not that it would matter too much- everyone around the stage is too drunk to really care, Sophie is obviously distracted, and the Lady and her cronies are conspicuously absent.

When he’d mentioned this to Beatrix, she’d shrugged.

“Not abnormal. Truth be told, right now is the most we’ve been seein’ her for a while. She ain’t exactly a regular. Why, do you _want_ her to be here?”

“No. She creeps me out.” Tedros had told her, which was true enough.

But there’s an odd atmosphere tonight, and he can’t help but think it’s something to do with Lady A’s absence.

Tedros dismisses the thought, narrowly avoiding a slightly off-centre kick from Kiko and moving towards the left side of the stage. He’s probably just unused to not having Hester’s gaze burning a hole in his back at all times. She still doesn’t trust him, he can tell that much-

“It’s tonight. They’re followin’ out another mole in a couple minutes.”

Tedros catches the snippet of conversation as he swaps places with Beatrix- two men sat at a table near the stage, apparently feeling that the roar of the club is enough to mask their conversation.

“They really caught another? Even after the Baker problem?” says the second, frowning. He’s unassuming- doesn’t look interesting at all. Maybe that’s the point. “That… ain’t good. Don’t you think they may be underestimatin’ em, slightly?”

“Maybe. I told the bosses to be more careful, but they didn’t listen…” says the dark-haired one, resigned. “Instead, they’re sendin’ some guys out to accompany him.”

“So they’re gonna walk right in an’ get jumped?”

“You got it. It’s the best precaution, see?”

Who were they talking about? It was obviously business they didn’t want being overheard, so they’d made a miscalculation in sitting where they were, but whoever it was, they-

“I mean, even they’re surprised at how hard Lady A is provin’ to catch.”

Tedros’s foot skids on the stage floor and he only just rights himself in time to avoid slamming into Reena.

Swearing under his breath, he looks back up-

And meets Beatrix’s wide eyes.

She shakes her head quickly and mouths _not now_ as she turns away from the crowd to swap positions, and Tedros knows she’s right, but he’s reeling.

Thankfully, neither of the men appear to have noticed their momentary jolt. Tedros strains to hear more-

“’s far as we know, though, this club ain’t her main one?”

“Didn’t even know it was her’s until his moll said it was. Guess she’s been busy too. But the boss is convinced she won’t have moved around. Baker got holes plugged at him at Gavaldon, didn’t he? She’s gotta still be there. Besides, they say that takin’ risks and bold investments ain’t her style. She’s more careful than that.”

They fall silent. Tedros, struggling to understand, waits for more, but nothing comes- apparently their conversation is at an end.

 

* * *

 

They end up car-jacking some random guy, which was, admittedly, not what Tedros was expecting. He wasn’t even expecting to leave the building.

Beatrix meets him at the performers exit, bundles a fur coat into his arms, and shoves him up the stairs into the cold outside air.        

“Tell me what you heard, and I’ll tell you the same, and explain.” She says, and wrenches open the door to the closest car.

“…Is that yours?”

“No.” Beatrix grins and points to the passenger seat. “Come on, Teddy. We’re goin’ for a spin… and to make sure our boss and her coven don’t get shot to pieces. This is your unofficial orientation. You’ve probably guessed it; our Lady A’s a gangster, I guess you could say- our supplier of all the drink, and she’s gained a big, bad, burly enemy or two over the years. Get in the car.”

There is a brief moment where Tedros considers not getting in the car. But then he remembers that he’s already illegally working in a speakeasy, and is already associated with Lady A, title of gangster known or not. There is very little he could do to make this whole thing worse.

Tedros gets in the car.

 

After he’s summarised everything, Beatrix is frowning deeply as she jerks the steering wheel, sending them rocketing around another hairpin bend.

“If I told you everythin’, she’d kick me to the curb, so I won’t… but, long story short, the Lady has beef with another group of fellas, and they messed each other up pretty bad a while back. They sort of both… retreated for a bit, I guess? Only, from what we know, which is quite a lot, they haven’t expanded- they’ve just made big deals with big men, like your old man, to stop them from gettin’ raided. “

“My _father?”_

“Yeah, he gets all his drink from their club, Foxwood, made some dodgy deal with ‘em- oh, don’t look like that, we both know he’s a massive hypocrite. You told me so.”

“…fair.” Tedros mutters. Beatrix nods sagely.

“Anyway, they’ve finally surfaced again, it appears, and they’ve been sendin’ informants to Gavaldon- Nicola’s joint, one of the Lady’s other major ones.  From what you heard, it looks like they haven’t realised it’s not her main one anymore. But the other night, the Lady and Hester… _dispatched_ someone who’d been sent there lookin’ for information, and tonight they’ve gone to do it again, at a more minor club. But they must’a caught on. So now we gotta go and save ‘em, even though we both look like we’d do better heel turns than punches. But I know better.”

“… are you even armed?” Tedros asks vaguely, still struggling to get over everything he’s just been told. Beatrix pats her coat pocket.

“Small pistol. I got the ammo in my bra. I’d have got you something, but you’re six foot and I watched you deck that guy who tried to grab Kiko, so you’ll be fine.”

Tedros doesn’t particularly agree, but considering he’s talking to the woman with bullets in her brassiere, he doesn’t argue.

 

Ten minutes later, they’re hurrying down a back alley, Beatrix’s hand shoved down the front of her dress-

“Why didn’t you just put them in your _pocket?”_ demands Tedros.

“I didn’t have this coat on stage.”

“You’re armed on _stage?”_

_“Shhhh!”_

Beatrix extracts the last of the bullets and yanks him flat against the wall. Tedros can hear muffled voices, and, as they peer across the road, he can see a couple of burly men stood, lurking, in the opposing alley. Beatrix jerks her head to the left of them, and Tedros can see that they’ve come out right next an old, run-down café, wedged in-between several sad-looking shops, including a butchers, and opposite what looks to be an orphanage.

“That’s the club?” he whispers, indicating the café.

“Yeah, Bartleby’s. One of the Lady’s oldest joints. They’ve gone to get the guy. We need to distract those fellas, they’ll be out any minute. So, I am now completely bent, and you are my chorus boy friend who’s trying to stop me chattin’ them up.”

She shoves the loaded pistol back in her pocket and swings out into the main road before Tedros can stop her.

“Beatrix-”

“He-eeeey, fellas!” she goes trundling towards them, leaving Tedros to hurry after her, cursing both her, and his own, impulsiveness.

 

He has to admit it, though, Beatrix would probably make a fair bit of money on the stage or screen. She lists to the side as she giggles drunkenly, clutching onto the sleeve of one of the biggest men, who looks somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Hiya fellas, what’re you doin all the way out here- oh, hiya Teddy! I’m just here with these nice guys, ain’t they swell-? Whoops!”

Tedros and the guy she’d been clinging to just about manage to catch Beatrix as she goes over on her ankle.

“Sorry, she’s completely blotto-” Tedros struggles to heave Beatrix back to her feet, but she’s obviously playing dead weight on purpose, and Tedros stumbles too, trying to drag her back to standing.

“Got it from that joint?” asks the lead man, indicating the door of the club.

Tedros hesitates, but Beatrix saves him.

“Aw, yeah, but the drink there is _shit,_ could be coffin varnish, we ain’t goin’ there again, are we, Teddy? We’ll go to Foxwood, it’s closer-”

The suspicious clouds that had hung over the men’s faces clear slightly.

“Good choice.” Pipes up another, scrawny, guy stood at the back. “We like it there, don’t we lads?”

There’s a mumble of agreement, and several hands descend to help Tedros drape Beatrix’s arm over his shoulders-

One of them freezes, and a knobbly finger stabs behind them-

“Oi, there they are, they’re there-”

Tedros swears internally and struggles to see over his shoulder-

He can see four dark-suited figures hurrying out of the door, two dragging a struggling fifth. That’s definitely them.

He feels Beatrix tense.

“Stay here, doll, we’ve got some nasty business with that lot.” Says the leader, and pats Tedros vaguely on the back. “Good luck draggin’ her home, pal.”

They hurry away as one pack, subtlety useless considering what they’re about to do-

The second their backs are turned, Beatrix stands straight back up, shoves her hand in her pocket, and rams the gun into the back of the last guy’s heads.

He crumples, useless, and his head glances off the flagstones with a nasty cracking sound.

Tedros winces- the other guys turn-

“OI, BOSS, THREE O’ CLOCK!” bellows Beatrix, and fires off the first shot.

 

Tedros will later wonder vaguely how he didn’t just die there and then.

Probably because Beatrix shoved him into the wall, but still.

They crash hard into the stone as the rapid crackle of gunfire erupts around them-

Beatrix gets off another couple of shots, and a few more figures slump the ground, but there’s at least seven still standing, plus the informant, who is grappling with Dot as they scrabble for a dropped pistol just inches from where Tedros and Beatrix are plastered to the wall-

Just as the informants fingers graze the handle, Tedros panics and kicks it as hard as he can. It skitters a good few feet, slams into a lamppost, and discharges.

Everyone ducks, but no one’s been hit, and Hester takes the opportunity to deliver a swift punch to another ambusher’s temple, reflexes much faster than his. They’re strong, not smart, it seems.

The leader, the man Beatrix had been talking to, seems to have gathered that they are not so innocent after all, and soon several grunts are bulling towards them-

Someone grabs Tedros’s collar, Tedros lurches forward in the same way he had when Hort had grabbed him, jabbing his heel backwards and twisting violently-

The heel connects with a kneecap, the man grunts in pain, and Tedros crashes back onto the flagstones, jarring his back painfully. Next to him, Beatrix staggers too, struggling to regain her footing in heels, and, apparently considering him an easy target, someone else raises their gun-

Lady A skids out of nowhere and shoots him in the shin.

The man wails and doubles over, and Lady A’s hand closes, hard, around his arm and yanks him upright.

“Why the hell did Beatrix bring _you?”_ she shouts over the din. Tedros opens his mouth to answer, thinks about it, and shuts it again.

“Get outta here.” She says roughly, shoving him towards the alleys. “Thanks, I think, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll scarper right now.”

Tedros doesn’t think it’s wise to argue, so he does as she says- and apparently, Beatrix has been given the same instruction.

They stagger together through the chaos, Beatrix’s bullets long spent, and they’re nearly at the alley they came out of when someone goes down hard next to them.

Tedros just about gets out of the way in time, a wild swipe just missing his ankles, and, when he turns, he sees Hester and one of the last standing ambushers clawing at one another. Hester has been disarmed long ago- her hands are empty.

But her attacker’s aren’t.

They stagger to their feet, still lurching madly and tugging furiously at one another, struggling to bring the other down-

The man rams his forearm hard into Hester’s throat, shoving her backwards and bashing her head down onto the wall, and raises a pistol with a trembling hand.

Anadil, preoccupied nearby, cries out, but no one else hears her, still fighting-

Tedros does something indescribably stupid for someone who hates him a lot and threw him into a vanity about two days ago.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING-”

Beatrix doesn’t get the chance to finish the question, before Tedros has grabbed the other man’s arm, spun them around, and hurled him as hard as he can at the floor.

Hester crumples to the ground, swearing violently and clutching her head, and Tedros delivers one swift kick to the man’s ribs, heel first, and boots the gun out of his hand. He shouts to get everyone’s attention, turn heel, grabs Beatrix, and sprints back into the alley as fast as his legs will possibly carry him, leaving the battle behind.


	10. stakeout

“I’m real surprised you didn’t shatter your ankle.”

Tedros turns to see Lady A stalk back into the bar, a good hour after he and Beatrix had burst back through the performer’s entrance. Behind her, Anadil and Dot lower a swearing Hester into one of the booths. All four of them are bloodied and bruised, even Lady A, who has blood blossoming in her nose and a sliced lip. She moves stiffly- they all do.

Tedros shrugs.

“They’re not too high. I can dance in them, can’t I? Not like I was expecting to have to fight in them, though.”

Lady A dismisses him with a vague grunt, swiping blood from under her nose impatiently.

“Where’s Beatrix?”

“Still cleaning up, I think.”

“Hm.” Lady A sinks into one of the chairs, eyes narrowed. She says nothing else.

Tedros blinks.

“So… you got away?”

“No, Meredith, I’m on a slab with a bullet in my skull.” Snaps Lady A. “ _ Yes,  _ we got away. Got what I wanted from the guy, too.”

Suddenly everyone is looking up.

“I thought  _ he _ got away.” Says Anadil. Next to her, Dot shifts around a little.

“So did he.” Says Lady A dispassionately. “I’m faster.”

“… what’d you get?” croaks Hester. She has an immense bruise blossoming over her jaw and cheek, and doesn’t seem to be able to focus properly.

Something changes slightly in her boss’s expression.

“Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry ‘bout right now.” Lady A says. It’s almost compassionate.

There’s a tense silence. Anadil fiddles absently with Hester’s collar. To Tedros’s surprise, she isn’t batted away.

“So…” Tedros says awkwardly, into the silence; “Those Foxwood guys were there to catch you?”

Lady A looks on the verge of another biting comment, but stops herself.

“Yeah. S’pose Beatrix told you that we ain’t the best of chums.”

Tedros nods warily.

“But.” She continues reluctantly, “I guess they didn’t get us… ‘cause of you an’ Bea. So I guess thanks is due.”

Tedros waits.

That appears to be as far as Lady A’s gratitude goes.

“Oh.” He says. “Yeah. That’s… okay.”

Hester still manages to look derisive with a potential concussion.

“You can’t possibly be considerin’ him useful, boss.”

Tedros flares, even though he’s not sure why.

“What, you want me to take you back and hand you over to those guys? I’m sure they’d  _ love _ to have you-”

Hester sneers.

“Don’t get cocky,  _ Meredith, _ I could’a got myself outta that. I don’t owe you jack shit.”

“No, you couldn’t have.” mumbles Dot.

“Shut up, Dot! What were you doin’, losin’ the informant?”

Dot goes scarlet.

“I went after him.” She mumbles, sullen.

“An’ it went real well, didn’t it? You’re damn lucky the boss had it covered _ ,  _ you _ sap _ .” Hester snarls, and turns back to Tedros, who is on his feet, now. “Don’t think just because you’re too stupid to know your own family tree you can get cocky. I’ll be the first to throw you to the kerb if you put even a  _ toe  _ outta line-”

“ _ Leave my father out of this! _ ” barks Tedros _.  _ Hester spurts out a mocking laugh.

“Oh, your  _ father _ ! Oh, of course- just you wait, _ Mr Pendragon- _ ”

Tedros hurls himself to his feet.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT-”

Lady A cuts him off.

“Hester,” she says. “Shut up an’ go to bed.”

There’s a new, black, note in her tone that Tedros hasn’t heard before. Apparently it’s not heard often by the others, either, because they all turn to stare at her.

“… what?”

“You heard me. Anadil, take her.”

“Boss-”

The look on Lady A’s face makes it obvious it’s not up for discussion.

Scowling, Hester lets Anadil haul her to her feet and help her stagger across the room. She casts a final, venomous glance at Tedros over her shoulder before Anadil tows her out of the door and they’re gone.

Dot and Tedros sit awkwardly in silence. Lady A stares after Hester. As usual, she’s completely inscrutable.

“Go to bed.” She says finally. “We’ll talk in the mornin’.”

Tedros stares at her.

“Talk? About what?”

Lady A considers him.

“’bout what we’re doin’ next.”

“…we?”

She stares at him for a second. Then she raises an eyebrow.

“Why, d’you want out? I figured you’d decided to get yourself involved.”

Something doesn’t ring exactly true, there, but Tedros doesn’t think too much on it.

“I didn’t think… I had much of a choice.” he admits.

Lady A leans on the table, rolling her shoulders slightly.

“You’ve always got a choice. Ain’t that right, Dot?”

“It’s what you always say, boss.” Murmurs Dot, a little morosely.

“So…” Lady A doffs her hat and rests her hand, a little gingerly, on her left hip. “You gotta decide.”

Tedros takes a breath-

She holds up a hand.

“Don’t have to tell me now. I’ll take it from whether or not you turn up tomorrow.”

She pushes off the table and heads towards the door.

“I gotta go see a man about a dog. Goodnight. I’ll meet you back here in the mornin’.”

“See you then.” Murmurs Tedros.

He doesn’t really expect her to hear it, but she does.

A ghost of a smile darts across her face as she disappears through the door, leaving Tedros and Dot alone.

Tedros stares after Lady A, slightly exasperated.

Dot sags further back into her seat, looking utterly defeated. Tedros turns to stare at her. Dot stares at her boots.

“I  _ didn’t  _ nearly let him get away.” She says defiantly, even though Tedros hadn’t said a word.

“Didn’t say you did.” Tedros says carefully.

Dot peers up at him.

“You’re air tight.” She says sadly. “No matter what you’re wearing. How d’you do your eyeliner like that?”

Tedros frowns at the change of topic.

“…steady hand?”

“Oh.”

Dot goes back to staring at the table.

Slightly gingerly, Tedros stands, heads over, and sits down next to her.

“Wish I could be like you.” She sulks. “Everyone likes the flappers.”

“Hester doesn’t like me.”

“Hester don’t like no one. Me included, apparently. Wish I wasn’t jus’ a shitty henchman to Hes and Ani.”

“You… don’t want to work for Lady A?”

“Nah, ain’t that. I’ve been with the boss longer than even those two. Wouldn’t leave her for nothin’. But those two treat me like nobody’s home, an’ I jus’ let em.”

“All the time?”

“Not… _ all _ the time.” Says Dot, but she sounds uncertain. “But enough.”

“Why don’t you tell them?”

“You kiddin’?” Dot snorts. “You’ve seen what happens when you try an’ tell Hester anythin’ she don’t like.”

“Anadil?”

“She’s always with Hester.” Sulks Dot. “Never get her on her own anymore. Anyway, they’d jus’ laugh at me.”

Tedros frowns.

“Why do you hang around with them, then?”

“They don’t know it’s upsettin’ me. They just think it’s a joke. It… kinda is, but I don’t like it when they make me look like a sap infronta the boss. That’s all. I do it myself half the time anyway. Nearly losin’ that guy an’ all.”

“Well… maybe tell the boss?” Offers Tedros.

“What, that the other two are pickin’ on me?” Dot scoffs.

“Nah, let her know you're sorry for it. Or whatever. So she knows.”

It sounds kind of lame, to him, but Dot frowns thoughtfully.

“Huh. Maybe I will. I ain't talked to A- uh, the boss, one on one, for ages…” She stares thoughtfully out the door. “Looked like her hip was troublin’ her.” She muses.

Tedros frowns.

“What's wrong with her hip?”

Dot either ignores him or doesn't hear him.

Sighing, Tedros slumps back into the booth. Why won't anyone at this damn place tell him anything-?

Dot bolts to her feet, fists clenched.

“I'll go an’ tell the boss I didn't mean to. At least she knows, even if Hester thinks I'm useless-”

She stands, intending to head to the door. Tedros, not entirely sure that's actually the right decision, least not the one that will make her happy, frantically racks his brains-

“Dot?”

The woman turns.

“I can show you how to do eyeliner. If you want.”

Dot stares at him for a second.

Then she grabs his head and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“You're a good egg, Teddy. Expect me to rock up at your dressin’ room, then!” She pats his chest and saunters off towards the door. “I'll tell Hester to lay off you, how about that? Maybe then you'll let me borrow your pearls, too.”

Tedros laughs- then realises what she's said.

“Dot, you won't stand up to Hester for yourself, but you'll do it for me-?”

But Dot is already gone.

* * *

“Anyone want a drink?” Says Sophie brightly the next morning.

“It's eight in the mornin’.” Snaps Lady A, boots propped on the table, hat tipped so low over her eyes that Tedros suspects she might be trying to nap surreptitiously.

“Who cares?” Chirps Sophie.

“I do. That's  _ my _ drink.”

“And this is my club.” Sophie says carelessly, swooping behind the bar to fetch herself one. Her sister doesn't bother arguing. “I'll get you something Teddy, you look dead on your feet.”

Tedros, too tired to bother reminding her he doesn't drink, lets her. He'd spent a sleepless night worrying about… well, everything.

“Get me the strongest coffin varnish we got.” Hester commands. Next to her, Dot doesn't exactly look cheered, but she's not hunched over anymore, and there's no tension between the two. Tedros wonders what Lady A told her.

“Ain't no coffin varnish here.” Snaps Lady A. “I should know. Got enough scars makin’ sure that I was shippin’ stuff that wasn't gonna kill my patrons.”

Sophie slaps down a glass of dubious looking liquid in front of Tedros and hands another to Hester. Hester peers at Lady A.

“Boss, it's all made in someone's bath.”

“What, you want me to go an’ buy it from the liquor store?” Snaps Lady A. “Oh, wait-”

Anadil snorts.

Beatrix and Nicola come hurrying in, muttering to each other, and now they're all here- the Coven, Chaddick, Lady A, Sophie, Nicola, Beatrix, and Tedros himself. It's a remarkably small group for the massive undertaking they represent.

No one says anything for a bit. Everyone seems to be waiting for Lady A, who looks entirely unbothered, sleeves rolled up to expose tattooed forearms, hands behind her head.

“...well?” Says Hester.

“Went to see a few people last night.” Says Lady A.

“Do you ever sleep?” Demands Beatrix.  She is ignored.

“Looks like they're a bit more active than we thought. Club needs to be staked out.”

“I'll go.” Offers Sophie, with an oddly significant look on her face. Tedros frowns, but Lady A is already waving her off.

“No. I'm goin’. So is Meredith.”

There is a short pause-

“MEREDITH?” bellows Hester.

“'less he changed his name last night.” Says Lady A dryly.

Hester mutters something about that not even being his real name. Tedros, too busy gawking at Lady A, doesn't bother engaging. She ignores both of them.

“Um.” Says Anadil. “They're gonna notice you.”

Lady A flings her hat on the table and swings her legs down.

“Don’t be a sap. You think I'm gonna go and stand there in my coat and hat and bully a couple flappers? There's a café opposite, you can see the entrance and exit from it real easy.”

Apparently this is not satisfactory; everyone else exchanges dubious looks. Tedros awkwardly swills the liquid in his glass, trying to avoid catching anyone's eye.

“You're taking Tedros?” Nicola checks.

“Yes.”

“... Teddy isn't exactly a spy.” says Sophie.

“No, but  _ Teddy  _ is a flirt and knows the high ends of town much better than any of us, so he's going to be my fake boyfriend for two hours.”

Tedros drops his glass.

“Break another one and you're paying for it.” Says Lady A without looking at him.

“WHAT.” bellows Hester.

“What part of  _ fake  _ did you misunderstand?” Snaps Lady A. “Meredith, go and get changed, I'll meet you at the performer's exit in half an hour.”

Tedros opens his mouth.

“ _ FAKE _ , MEREDITH!”

Tedros closes his mouth and does as he is told. 

* * *

  
Chaddick is still laughing twenty minutes later.

“I had to do this, once, with Anadil, and that was bad enough, but the  _ boss _ ! I'll be shocked if you come back alive.”

“Thanks, Chaddick.” Mutters Tedros, trying not to sweat through his shirt. “You’re making this better.”

“I don't think I've ever seen the boss not wanderin’ around in men's clothes, come to think of it-”

“They ain't men's clothes if I'm wearin’ em, are they?”

Both boys spin to see Lady A stood on the stairs above them, clad in a long coat and fairly short skirt, and a pair of heels that Tedros is fairly sure belong to Beatrix.  

“...yeah, you look better in suits.” Says Chaddick.

“Thank you for your input.” Lady A says, completely without gratitude, shifting her fringe to cover her scarred face a little better.

Snickering still, Chaddick departs, and Lady A narrows her eyes at him, apparently awaiting a similar sentiment. Tedros makes no such comment, other than;

“Isn't it too hot for long sleeves?”

Lady A hitches the sleeve up slightly to reveal her tattooed arm.

“Oh. Okay.”

“I'd rather sweat than get identified and shot on the spot.”

And with that, she turns and strides off, leaving Tedros with no choice but to follow 

* * *

  
“It ain't far, turn here- Meredith, you're my boyfriend for an hour, not my hostage _ ,  _ can you look a  _ little less distressed _ ? _ ” _

“Sorry _.” _ Tedros tries to summon his stage persona, but it's stubbornly remaining concealed today.

She's made him drive, which probably makes sense, but he's also been swiftly informed that if they run into trouble, they swap and he just  _ gets in wherever and tries to not get shot. _

“Are we… likely to?” He'd asked faintly. Lady A had shrugged.

“Provided neither of us mess it up.”

Tedros wasn't sure if there was an implication of _him_ being the one to mess it up or not, so he hadn't said anything.

But now, he realises something.

“...boss?”

“Meredith?”

“What am I supposed to call you? Can't just call you that, can I?”

She almost looks amused.

“Good point. Considerin’ we're supposed to be in love an’ shit, whatever you like.”

That's not what Tedros meant, and she probably knows it, but it works, so he's got no reason to protest.

“It's across the street, in that shop there. Hi there, doll-”

Tedros shuffles, trying not to look uncomfortable, and across the street at the apparent entrance to Foxwood, as Lady A turns to order their drinks.

He catches the young waitress staring, wide eyed, at his boss, at the scars still visible in places on her face. Praying she won't recognise her, or at least get suspicious, he glances over-

But looking at Lady A, he realises something in her face has shifted and changed, become less hard. It's odd, because she's still holding her usual unreadable expression, but it looks far less detached than usual-

Lady A smiles,  _ properly _ smiles, at the nervous young waitress.

“Don't worry about the scars, doll. My cat's a bastard, is all. Learned pretty fast he don't like to be picked up, much.”

The girl cracks a smile.

“For real?”

“Sure. He's a menace. Named him Reaper cause of it. Hates you, don't he, baby?”

Tedros jumps, realising he's been addressed, and nearly knees the table.

“Uh, yeah. Not a cat person.” he says faintly.

“He ain't a people cat either, so I suppose you should get on fine. Don't work like that, though. Can I get a black coffee, doll? Need the caffeine. What'd you want, baby?”

The very pointed look in her eye suggests he's not doing a very good job, so he tries his best to step it up.

“I’ll get whatever you're having. Ain't no harm in matching.”

“There sure ain't.” She flashes him another smile and turns back to the waitress.

Tedros feels rather hot.

This is the first time he's seen her smile. Definitely. Maybe? No, definitely. There's been half smiles and smirks and that flit of faint, possibly mocking, amusement he seems to invoke frequently, but this is the first time she's smiled sincerely, and- and-

“Yes, Meredith, I have facial muscles that work, can we stick to the plan, please?”

This time, Tedros does knee the table. Lady A does not look impressed.

“Oh. Yeah, right, sorry.” He stares at her. “...what are we looking for?”

“Should have sent Sophie.” Mutters Lady A.

It's going to be a long few hours.  

 

Except Tedros cracks about ten seconds later. So not really.

“...do you really have a cat called Reaper?”

Her mouth twitches.

“Yeah. You never seen him? Bald, one good eye. Wrinkly. Bad-tempered.”

Tedros has a sudden flashback to a very similar cat that had tried to claw his stockings at the club a few weeks back. He'd tried to pry it off. It had bitten him and spat on his gloves.

He'd kicked it.

“...nope.” he says. “Never seen it.”

“Funny how he keeps bringin’ me your earrings, then.” Says Lady A coolly.

Tedros chokes.

“ _ That's _ where they're going-”

He stops, but she's smirking.

“The other flappers know where to hide theirs. Oh, stop lookin’ like that, I'll hand them back later.”

But Tedros is frowning for a different reason.

“You.... live at the club?”

“I live above the spa.” She corrects him. “I own the whole building. Sophie and I live up there. Hester stays often. I ain't there too much, anyway.”

“That's… fun.” says Tedros without much conviction. She snorts.

“Yeah, I'm sure you think that.” She considers him. “You’re probably at the club more than I am, anyway.”

Tedros frowns.

“But… you’re there plenty?”

“Exception, not the rule.” she says breezily. “I'm outta town a lot. Not right now, though. Got some things here to sort.”

“... Right.” Tedros mutters, not liking the feeling that it's to do with him.

He glances across the road again. All seems quiet.

“How do you know the club is there?” he murmurs  “I presume they don't know where  _ we _ are. Or do they?”

Her mouth flattens into a flat, blunt line and Tedros suspects he's made a mistake. But all she says is;

“They didn't relocate, afterwards. I did.”

“After... what?”

“After they decided they weren't so fond of me.”  

“...oh.”

Sensing he won't get told any more than that today- but also with the impression that she's severely understating what happened- Tedros doesn't press the topic.

* * *

 

They've been there just under half an hour when Lady A freezes, mug halfway to her mouth, eyes narrowed over the rim.

“...something?” Says Tedros, trying to look genial and not like he want to run away.

“Left. The car that's just pulled up.” She murmurs. Tedros shifts his eyes- there's several young men clambering out of a car. He doesn't recognise any of them.

He turns back and finds his boss staring straight at him.

“Who are the- what?”

“Nothing.” She says, even though it's not nothing. Her eyes cut back to the car. “I know-”

She stops, and doesn't catch herself fast enough. Tedros turns.

There's another man with them, older than the others, taller. A sharper suit, a longer stride, blonde hair greying at the temples under his hat-

And bright blue eyes.

The same blue eyes as the ones that are watching him out of the café window.

Tedros tenses.

His father.

His  _ father _ .

Beatrix had told him he bought drink from Foxwood, but he'd barely thought on it. But now... now, there he was. In the flesh. With a group of people who'd sent gunmen after his boss and her affiliates. And Tedros had helped them, while Arthur helped the other, and _God_ this was convoluted-

“I shouldn't have brought you.” Lady A mutters, half to herself. “But at least now I know…” she trails off, glancing between him and the group, who are disappearing into the side exit. Arthur remains outside, saying goodbye to them jovially.

“I have to go.” Tedros says suddenly, feeling rather sick.

“Yeah.” Says Lady A. “Yeah, you do. Come on.”

She grabs his hand- they're fake dating, that makes sense, it makes sense- tosses some money on the table, and tows him out of the café.

Tedros stumbles after her, feeling vaguely disconnected. It hadn't really dawned on him before, he and his father's distinctly opposing connections, but now it was starkly obvious, too obvious and Arthur already disapproved of him anyway, what was he  _ thinking- _

Lady A grabs his arm and pulls him against her so their sides are pressed together. In heels, she's taller than him. Funny. He's always been in heels.

Oh  _ god _ , the speakeasy-

“Breathe, Meredith, it's fine.”

“It's not.” Groans Tedros.

“...maybe not. But right now, it kind of has to be.”

Tedros catches the tense tone in her voice and looks up-

“What?”

“Your father's coming. Guess you've got a girlfriend.”

Tedros's heart seizes.

“ _ What- _ ”

“I'll handle it. Baby.”

Tedros fancies she smirks a little, and frowns at her-

“Tedros!”

Tedros turns, forces down the nausea, smiles.

“Father.”

Arthur stands in front of them, peering confusedly, and slightly fuzzily, at Lady A. Hungover. Great.

“Who's the lady, Tedros?”

Tedros hesitates.

“Um. This is-”

Lady A saves him.

“Essa Woods, sir. Would you be Arthur Pendragon, by any chance?”

Arthur takes her offered hand vaguely.

“Yes…”

“The resemblance is real striking, sir, I gotta say.”

Arthur nods a couple of times, still frowning at them.

“...what are you, his girlfriend?”

She shrugs easily.

“If he likes, sir. I ain't bothered what he calls me.”

It's a slightly clumsy dodge, but Arthur barely notices.

“Huh. At least you're out and about, Teddy…” he pats his son vaguely on the arm. Tedros is sure he looks very strained. He definitely feels it.

“Sure am.” he forces out.

“Yeah…” Arthur turns back to Lady A. Tedros forces down a pang of disappointment. He's barely seen Arthur in months, and that's all he gets?

“...do I know you?” he asks Tedros's boss.

“I don't think so, sir.”

“You haven't been at any of my parties? What's your mother's name?”

“Vanessa Woods.” Says Lady A quickly, suddenly also looking tense. Tedros regrets ever coming, but he can't help but feel a little curious, now-

Arthur looks a little disappointed.

“Never heard the name. Just felt like I'd shook hands with you before…”

He stares contemplatively at her, but Tedros knows there's hardly anything going on in his head.

But the sentiment. The idea that he'd shaken hands with her before.

He'd had the exact same feeling.

Unnerved, Tedros looks across at Lady A as she flashes that smile again and shrugs.

“Just one of those faces, I think.”

Arthur seems satisfied with that.

“Hm. Well, fair enough. Nice meeting you, miss.”

“And you, sir.”

He brushes past his son and stumps away down the street without so much as a goodbye.

Tedros scowls at the pavement, listening to his unsteady steps disappear into the rest of the noise of the street. He glances at Lady A, and, to his surprise, finds her staring at him, not after Arthur.

“Let's go back.” She says, not unkindly. “I'll drive.”

Tedros doesn't bother arguing, not that he really wants to.

* * *

  
They drive back in silence, and by the time they get back, he feels even worse.

“Are you performin’ tonight?” Lady A asks him, finally. She's slipped back into her usual mannerisms at some point.

Tedros slides out of the passenger door, sighing.

“I suppose.”

“You don't have to.”

There's something in her voice-

Tedros turns back to her, but she's not looking at him, stripping off her gloves and hat.

“... But it's your club.” he says.

“So I get to say what goes on. You don't have to perform if you don't want. I can cope with one night, I think, even if those girls at the back can't.”

Tedros hesitates. All he really wants to do is crawl into bed and pretend this whole day never happened. But the idea of shedding Arthur's son and getting to be the “Prince of Avalon” again…

“Beatrix wanted me to see her try out some new kick... or something.” He says finally, fiddling with his hat.

“Then sit with us.” Lady A slams the door and walks around to stand with him. “You can still get dressed up, if you like. That way the kids can still gawk.”

Tedros stares at her. She's unnervingly good at guessing what he's thinking.

She raises her eyebrows at him, exposing another shiny scar just above her eye. There's a lighter ring of brown around her pupil that he'd never noticed before. He'd thought her eyes were black, or as close as they can get. But they're brown in this light, shifting shades, and-

Again, that unsettling wave of familiarity rises.

_ Who are you? _ Tedros thinks.  _ How do I know you? _

“...alright.” he says finally. “I'll sit with you.”

He thinks she looks rather pleased.

“Attaboy. See you later… baby.”

Tedros groans as she strides off, especially as she laughs to herself, closing the door behind her-

“Who was  _ that _ ?” says an all too familiar voice, sounding a little unsettled-

Oh, no. No, no,  _ no. _

“What do you want?” Tedros turns on him and cuts him off, probably too harshly. Hort, stood behind him, frowns.

“I haven't changed the agreement, I just wanted to ask if-”

“Whatever it is, the answers  _ no _ , go chase yourself.” Snaps Tedros before he can finish, panic building in his chest and perfectly aware that Lady A could be hearing all of this, she only just left…

He makes for the door, resisting the urge to shove Hort into the dirt-

Hort darts in front of him and cuts him off, scowling. Tedros screams internally.

“I  _ said _ , leave me alo-”

“Arthur told my mother he saw you today, you know.” He says, slyly. “He seemed a little suspicious if you ask me. Asked a few too many questions-  _ OW-! _ ”

Tedros grabs his collar and yanks them so they're nose-to-nose.

“ _ Go to hell. _ ”

He throws Hort out of the way and flings himself through the door, slamming it with so much force that he hears a tile fall off and shatter. Biting his lip so hard he tastes blood, he spins, sure he can feel her eyes boring into him-

But the hallway is empty and Lady A is nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took SO DAMN LONG... I'm really busy and it's not even a double update :/


End file.
